Samuel  Xeasfc 

1bis  Booh 


ntbou  art  borrowed  by  a 
friend, 

Right  welcome  shall  be  be 
to  read,  to  study,  not  to  lend, 
But  to  return  to  me«««« 


not  tbat  imparted  knowl- 
edge dotb 

Diminish  learning's  store, 
But  books,  T  find,  if  often  lent, 
Return  to  rt*e  no  more ««««««« 


POETRY  AND    SONG. 


BY 

JAMES   GOWDY  CLARK. 


BOSTON : 
D.    LOTHROP    AND    COMPANY. 

FRANKLIN  AND  HAWLEY  STREETS. 


COPYRIGHT,  1886,  BY 
D.  LOTHROP  AND  COMPANY. 


BOSTON  ; 

COMPOSITION   AND  BLBCTROTYPING   BY 
C.    F.    MATTOON   AND  COMPANY. 


ps 


CIZ3 


To 


JENNIE  CLARK  JACOBSON, 
ST.  PAUL,  MINN. 


PREFACE. 


THESE  rhymes  have  been  developed  at  intervals,  and 
thrown  off  at  random,  during  the  past  thirty-five  years  of 
a  somewhat  busy  public  life,  involving  almost  constant 
travel,  unaccompanied,  until  within  the  present  year,  by 
any  serious  view  to  their  ultimate  collection  in  a  volume 
by  themselves. 

With  the  exception  of  the  last  poem  in  the  book,  — 
which  is  my  latest  production,  and  in  which  I  attempt  to 
give  voice  to  the  universal  and  "Divine  Energy"  that 
acts  in  unison  with  the  Supreme  Mind,  —  they  are,  as  a 
rule,  arranged  without  regard  to  the  order  in  which  they 
were  first  written. 

A  number  of  them  are  already  familiar  to  the  public 
through  repeated  appearance  in  the  newspapers;  and, 
with  others  less  familiar,  are  now  for  the  first  time 
organized  into  a  separate  literary  colony  at  the  earnest 
request,  not  only  of  old  and  valued  friends,  but  of  stran- 
gers in  all  parts  of  the  land. 

No  less  than  forty  of  the  lyrics  have  been  wedded  to 
the  author's  own  music,  and  to  the  music  of  other  com- 


vi  Preface. 

posers,  and  issued  in  sheet  form ;  and  a  few  of  these  — 
written  long  ago  —  treat  of  themes  that,  perhaps,  would 
not  have  been  chosen  later  on  in  life,  while  others  are 
by  no  means  up  to  the  author's  present  standard  ot  ex- 
pression. But  even  these  have  friends  who  have  sung, 
or  heard  them  sung,  in  times  past,  and  who  would  miss 
them,  and  be  dissatisfied,  were  their  favorites  to  be 
excluded  from  the  collection. 

JAMES   G.   CLARK. 

MINNEAPOLIS,  MINN.,  June,  1886. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  PEOPLE x 

THE  MOUNT  OF  THE  HOLY  CROSS    ....  5 

NOVEMBER        9 

MY  MOTHER  is  NEAR 12 

THE  CAPTAIN'S  SIGNAL 14 

OCEAN  MUSINGS  .              16 

THE  SILVER  PILGRIM .  18 

THE  WOOD  ROBIN 21 

OUTCAST 24 

BY  THE  BORDERS  OF  THE  SEA  .       .       .       .       •  25 

SWEET  RUTH 27 

DR.  JAMES  C.  JACKSON 29 

ART  THOU  LIVING  YET? 30 

PATRIOTIC  AND  NATIONAL. 

THE  BIRD  OF  WASHINGTON       .....  32 

STAR  OF  THE  NORTH 33 

A  PROPHECY 35 


viii  Contents. 

FAGF 

FREMONT'S  BATTLE  HYMN     ......  37 

THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  BATTLE-FIELD    .       •       •  41 

MINNIE  MINTON 43 

FREEDOM'S  DEAD.       .......  54 

SOUGHT,  BUT  NEVER  FOUND  .  .       .       .       .46 

WHEN  You  AND  I  WERE  SOLDIER  BOYS.       .       .  48 

SCOTLAND,  I  LOVE  THEE 50 

AMERICA  AND  IRELAND 51 

Two  CONQUERORS 53 

SONGS  AND  BALLADS  FOR  MUSIC. 

THE  OLD  MOUNTAIN  TREE 55 

THE  ROVER'S  GRAVE 57 

THE  ROCK  OF  LIBERTY 58 

MEET  ME  BY  THE  RUNNING  BROOK     ....  60 

THE  EXILE'S  RETURN  .......  61 

JOYS  OF  MY  CHILDHOOD 62 

OH !  TAKE  ME  FROM  THE  FESTAL  THRONG     .  63 

MOONLIGHT  AND  STARLIGHT 65 

OREANNA •  66 

WE  CANNOT  GIVE  THEE  UP -67 

THE  CAPTIVE 69 

SONG  OF  THE  INDIAN  MOTHER 70 

MOONLIGHT  HOURS     .......  72 

HARY  O'LANE 74 


Contents.  ix 

PAGE 

Tis  SWEET  TO  BE  REMEMBERED      ....  76 

SLEEP,  ROBIN,  SLEEP      .       .       .....  78 

LET  us  LOVE  WH-ILE  WE  MAY 79 

MARION  MOORE 80 

LORD,  KEEP  MY  MEMORY  GREEN      .       .       .       •  82 

SPIRITUAL  LYRICS. 

THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  LIFE 84 

THE  DAWN  OF  REDEMPTION 86 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  HILLS 88 

PROPHET  OF  NAZARETH 90 

WHERE  THE  ROSES  NEVER  WITHER     ....  92 

MY  PRAYER 94 

THE  ISLES  OF  THE  BY  AND  BY 96 

BEAUTIFUL  ANNIE 98 

CHILDREN'S  DAY      ........  100 

LOOK  UP 102 

LEONA 103 

THE  GUARDIAN  ANGEL      .       .       .       .       .       .  107 

GOING  HOME 108 

LOVE  SONGS  AND  POEMS. 

OUR  DREAM  BY  THE  RIVER in 

THE  PICTURE    .       . .112 

COMPLETENESS 113 


x  Contents. 

PAGR 

THE  GOLDEN  DREAM 114 

LOVE'S  MORNING  CALL 116 

I  CARE  NOT  FOR  THIS  WORLD  WITHOUT  THEE  .       .118 

NIGHT  ON  THE  PRAIRIE 120 

LOVE'S  IMMORTALITY 122 

JUNE  DAYS 125 

THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  MOON 127 

OUR  LOVE  SHALL  NEVER  DlE 128 

VENUS 130 

I  WILL  BE  WITH  YOU 131 

MISCELLANEO  US. 

THE  BOATMAN'S  DREAM 132 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  YEARS  OF  OUR  LOVE     .       .       .  138 

FLOWERS  ARE  DYING 140 

ON  THE  BEACH 142 

A  FRAGMENT 143 

LUTHER  OF  PIETY  HILL 144 

A  WESTERN  TARR 146 

ODE  ON  A  CRACKED  BELL 147 

THE  EAST  AND  THE  WEST 149 

To  MY  MOTHER'S  SPIRIT IS1 

DAWN 152 

THE  WOMAN  AND  THE  ANGEL 153 

THE  INFINITE  MOTHER 156 


POETRY  AND  SONG. 


THE    VOICE   OF  THE  PEOPLE. 

SWING  inward,  O  gates  of  the  future  ! 

Swing  outward,  ye  doors  of  the  past, 
For  the  soul  of  the  people  is  moving 

And  rising  from  slumber  at  last ; 
The  black  forms  of  night  are  retreating, 

The  white  peaks  have  signalled  the  day, 
And  Freedom  her  long  roll  is  beating, 

And  calling  her  sons  to  the  fray. 

And  woe  to  the  rule  that  has  plundered 

And  trod  down  the  wounded  and  slain, 
While  the  wars  of  the  Old  Time  have  thundered, 

And  men  poured  their  life-tide  in  vain ; 
The  day  of  its  triumph  is  ending, 

The  evening  draws  near  with  its  doom, 
And  the  star  of  its  strength  is  descending, 

To  sleep  in  dishonor  and  gloom. 

Though  the  tall  trees  are  crowned  on  the  highlands 
With  the  first  gold  of  rainbow  and  sun, 


2  The   Voice  of  the  People. 

While  far  in  the  distance  below  them 

The  rivers  in  dark  shadows  run, 
They  must  fall,  and  the  workmen  shall  burn  them 

Where  the  lands  and  the  low  waters  meet, 
And  the  steeds  of  the  New  Time  shall  spurn  them 

With  the  soles  of  their  swift-flying  feet. 


Swing  inward,  O  gates  !  till  the  morning 

Shall  paint  the  brown  mountains  in  gold, 
Till  the  life  and  the  love  of  the  New  Time 

Shall  conquer  the  hate  of  the  Old ; 
Let  the  face  and  the  hand  of  the  Master 

No  longer  be  hidden  from  view, 
Nor  the  lands  he  prepared  for  the  many 

Be  trampled  and  robbed  by  the  few. 

The  soil  tells  the  same  fruitful  story, 

The  seasons  their  bounties  display, 
And  the  flowers  lift  their  faces  in  glory 

To  catch  the  warm  kisses  of  day; 
While  our  fellows  are  treated  as  cattle 

That  are  muzzled  when  treading  the  corn, 
And  millions  sink  down  in  Life's  battle 

With  a  sigh  for  the  day  they  were  born. 

Must  the  Sea  plead  in  vain  that  the  River 
May  return  to  its  mother  for  rest, 

And  the  Earth  beg  the  rain  clouds  to  give  her 
Of  dews  they  have  drawn  from  her  breast  ? 


The   Voice  of  the  People. 

Lo  !  the  answer  comes  back  in  a  mutter 

From  domes  where  the  quick  lightnings  glow, 

And  from  heights  where  the  mad  waters  utter 
Their  warning  to  dwellers  below. 


And  woe  to  the  robbers  who  gather 

In  fields  where  they  never  have  sown, 
Who  have  stolen  the  jewels  from  labor 

And  builded  to  Mammon  a  throne ; 
For  the  snow-king,  asleep  by  the  fountains, 

Shall  wake  in  the  summer's  hot  breath, 
And  descend  in  his  rage  from  the  mountains, 

Bearing  terror,  destruction,  and  death. 

And  the  throne  of  their  god  shall  be  crumbled, 

And  the  sceptre  be  swept  from  his  hand, 
And  the  heart  of  the  haughty  be  humbled, 

And  a  servant  be  chief  in  the  land,  — 
And  the  Truth  and  the  Power  united 

Shall  rise  from  the  graves  of  the  True, 
And  the  wrongs  of  the  Old  Time  be  righted 

In  the  might  and  the  light  of  the  New. 

For  the  Lord  of  the  harvest  hath  said  it, 

Whose  lips  never  uttered  a  lie, 
And  his  prophets  and  poets  have  read  it 

In  symbols  of  earth  and  of  sky : 
That  to  him  who  has  revelled  in  plunder 

Till  the  angel  of  conscience  is  dumb, 


2  The   Voice  of  the  People. 

While  far  in  the  distance  below  them 

The  rivers  in  dark  shadows  run, 
They  must  fall,  and  the  workmen  shall  burn  them 

Where  the  lands  and  the  low  waters  meet, 
And  the  steeds  of  the  New  Time  shall  spurn  them 

With  the  soles  of  their  swift-flying  feet. 

Swing  inward,  O  gates  !  till  the  morning 

Shall  paint  the  brown  mountains  in  gold, 
Till  the  life  and  the  love  of  the  New  Time 

Shall  conquer  the  hate  of  the  Old ; 
Let  the  face  and  the  hand  of  the  Master 

No  longer  be  hidden  from  view, 
Nor  the  lands  he  prepared  for  the  many 

Be  trampled  and  robbed  by  the  few. 

The  soil  tells  the  same  fruitful  story, 

The  seasons  their  bounties  display, 
And  the  flowers  lift  their  faces  in  glory 

To  catch  the  warm  kisses  of  day ; 
While  our  fellows  are  treated  as  cattle 

That  are  muzzled  when  treading  the  corn, 
And  millions  sink  down  in  Life's  battle 

Writh  a  sigh  for  the  day  they  were  born. 

Must  the  Sea  plead  in  vain  that  the  River 

May  return  to  its  mother  for  rest, 
And  the  Earth  beg  the  rain  clouds  to  give  her 

Of  dews  they  have  drawn  from  her  breast  ? 


The   Voice  of  the  People. 

Lo !  the  answer  comes  back  in  a  mutter 

From  domes  where  the  quick  lightnings  glow, 

And  from  heights  where  the  mad  waters  utter 
Their  warning  to  dwellers  below. 


And  woe  to  the  robbers  who  gather 

In  fields  where  they  never  have  sown, 
Who  have  stolen  the  jewels  from  labor 

And  builded  to  Mammon  a  throne ; 
For  the  snow-king,  asleep  by  the  fountains, 

Shall  wake  in  the  summer's  hot  breath, 
And  descend  in  his  rage  from  the  mountains, 

Bearing  terror,  destruction,  and  death. 

And  the  throne  of  their  god  shall  be  crumbled, 

And  the  sceptre  be  swept  from  his  hand, 
And  the  heart  of  the  haughty  be  humbled, 

And  a  servant  be  chief  in  the  land,  — 
And  the  Truth  and  the  Power  united 

Shall  rise  from  the  graves  of  the  True, 
And  the  wrongs  of  the  Old  Time  be  righted 

In  the  might  and  the  light  of  the  New. 

For  the  Lord  of  the  harvest  hath  said  it, 

Whose  lips  never  uttered  a  lie, 
And  his  prophets  and  poets  have  read  it 

In  symbols  of  earth  and  of  sky : 
That  to  him  who  has  revelled  in  plunder 

Till  the  angel  of  conscience  is  dumb, 


4  The   Voice  of  the  People. 

The  shock  of  the  earthquake  and  thunder 
And  tempest  and  torrent  shall  come. 

Swing  inward,  O  gates  of  the  future ! 

Swing  outward,  ye  doors  of  the  past, 
A  giant  is  waking  from  slumber 

And  rending  his  fetters  at  last ; 
From  the  dust  where  his  proud  tyrants  found  him, 

Unhonored  and  scorned  and  betrayed, 
He  shall  rise  with  the  sunlight  around  him, 

And  rule  in  the  realm  he  has  made. 


The  Mount  of  the  Holy  Cross. 


THE  MOUNT  OF  THE  HOLY  CROSS. 

The  "  Mount  of  the  Holy  Cross,"  the  principal  mountain  of  the  Saguache 
Range,  Colorado,  is  14,176  feet  above  tide-water.  The  Cross  is  located  near 
the  top,  facing  the  east,  and  consists  of  two  crevices  filled  with  snow  summer 
and  winter.  The  crevices  are  about  fifty  feet  wide,  and  the  snow  in  them 
from  fifty  to  one  hundred  feet  in  depth.  The  perpendicular  arm  of  the  Cross 
is  some  fifteen  hundred  feet  long,  and  the  horizontal  arm  seven  hundred  feet. 
The  Cross  can  be  seen  at  a  distance  of  thirty  or  forty  miles. 

THE  ocean  divided,  the  land  struggled  through, 
And  a  newly  born  continent  burst  into  view ; 
Like  furrows  upturned  by  the  ploughshare  of  God, 
The  mountain  chains  rose  where  the  billows  had 

trod; 

And  their  towering  summits,  in  mighty  array, 
Turned  their  terrible  brows  to  the  glare  of  the  day, 
Like  sentinels  guarding  the  gateway  of  Time, 
Lest  the  contact  with  mortals  should  stain  it  with 

crime. 

The  ocean  was  vanquished,  the  new  world  was  born. 
Its  headlands  flung  back  the  bold  challenge  of  morn ; 
The  sun  from  the  trembling  sea  marshalled  the  mist 
Till  the  hills  by  the  soul  of  the  ocean  were  kissed ; 
And  the  Winter-king  reached  from  his  cloud-castled 

height 
To  hang  on  each  brow  the  first  garland  of  white ; 


6  The  Mount  of  the  Holy  Cross. 

For  the  crystals  came  forth  at  the  touch  of  his  wand, 
And  the  soul  of  the  sea  ruled  again  on  the  land. 

Then  arose  the  loud  moan  of  the  desolate  tide, 
As  it  called  back  its  own  from  the  far  mountain  side : 
"  O  soul  of  my  soul !  by  the  sun  led  astray, 
Return  to  the  heart  that  would  hold  thee  alway ; 
The  sun  and  the  silver  moon  woo  me  in  vain, 
By  day  and  by  night  I  am  sobbing  with  pain ; 
Oh,  loved  of  my  bosom  !  Oh,  child  of  the  Free, 
Come  back  to  the  lips  that  are  waiting  for  thee  ! " 

But  a  sound,  like  all  melodies  mingled  in  one, 
Came  down  through  the   spaces   that  cradled  the 

sun. 

Like  music  from  far-distant  planets  it  fell, 
Till  earth,  air,  and  ocean  were  hushed  in  the  spell : 
"  Be  silent,  ye  waters,  and  cease  your  alarm, 
All  motion  is  only  the  pulse  of  my  arm ; 
In  my  breath  the  vast  systems  unerringly  swing, 
And  mine  is  the  chorus  the  morning  stars  sing. 

"  'Twas  mine  to  create  them,  'tis  mine  to  command 

The  land  to  the  ocean,  the  sea  to  the  land  ; 

All,  all  are  my  creatures,  and  they  who  would  give 

True  worship  to  me  for  each  other  must  live. 

Lo !  I  leave  on  the  mountain  a  sign  that  shall  be 

A  type  of  the  union  of  land  and  sea,  — 

An  emblem  of  anguish  that  comes  before  bliss, 

For  they  who  would  conquer  must  conquer  by  this." 


The  Mount  of  the  Holy  Cross.  7 

The  roar  of  the  earthquake  in  answer  was  heard, 
The  land  from  its  solid  foundation  was  stirred, 
The  breast  of  the  mountain  was  rent  by  the  shock, 
And  a  cross  was  revealed  on  the  heart  of  the  rock ; 
One  hand  pointing  south,  where  the   tropic   gales 

blow, 

And  one  to  the  kingdom  of  winter  and  snow, 
While  its  face  turned  to  welcome  the  dawn  from  afar, 
Ere  Jordan  had  rolled  under  Bethlehem's  star. 


The  harp  of  the  elements  over  it  swung, 
In  the  wild  chimes  of  Nature  its  advent  was  rung, 
Around  it  the  hair  of  the  Winter-king  curled, 
Against  it  in  fury  his  lances  were  hurled, 
And  the  pulse  of  the  hurricane  beat  in  its  face 
Till  the  snows  were  locked  deep  in  its  mighty  em- 
brace, 
And  its  arms  were  outstretched  on  the  mountain's 

cold  breast, 
As  spotless  and  white  as  the  robes  of  the  blest. 


Then  the  spirit  of  Summer  came  up  from  the  south 
With  the  smile  of  the  Junes  on  her  beautiful  mouth, 
And   breathed  on  the  valleys,  the  plains,  and  the 

hills, 
While   the  snow  rippled  home  in  the  arms  of  the 

rills ; 

The  winter  was  gone,  but  the  symbol  was  there, 
Towering  mutely  and  grand,  like  the  angel  of  prayer, 


8  The  Mount  of  the  Holy  Cross. 

Where  the  morning  shall  stream  on  the  place  of  its 

birth 
Till  the  last  cross  is  borne  by  the  toilers  of  earth. 

It  will  never  grow  old  while  the  sea-breath  is  drawn 
From  the  lips  of  the  billows  at  evening  and  dawn, 
While  heaven's  pure  finger  transfigures  the  dews, 
And  with  garlands  of  frost-work  its  beauty  renews ; 
It  was  there  when  the  blocks  of  the  pyramid  pile 
Were  drifting  in  sands  on  the  plains  of  the  Nile, 
And  it  still  shall  point  homeward,  a  token  of  trust, 
When  pyramids  crumble  in  dimness  and  dust. 

It  shall  lean  o'er  the  world  like  a  banner  of  peace 
Till  discord  and  war  between  brothers  shall  cease, 
Till  the  red  sea  of  Time  shall  be  cleansed  of  its  gore, 
And  the  years  like  white  pebbles  be  washed  to  the 

shore ; 

As  long  as  the  incense  from  ocean  shall  rise 
To  weave  its  bright  woof  on  the  warp  of  the  skies, 
As  long  as  the  clouds  int*>  crystals  shall  part, 
That  cross  shall  gleam  high  on  the  Continent's  heart. 


November. 


NOVEMBER. 

THE  red  sun  gathers  up  his  beams, 

To  bid  the  withered  earth  farewell, 
And  voices  from  the  swelling  streams 

Are  mingling  with  the  evening  bell ; 
The  cold  lake  sobs  with  restless  grief, 

Where  late  the  water-lilies  grew, 
While  autumn  fowl,  and  autumn  leaf, 

Are  sailing  down  the  rivers  blue. 

Forsaken  are  the  woodland  shrines, 

The  bluebird  and  the  wren  have  fled, 
And  winds  are  wailing  through  the  pines 

A  dirge  for  summer's  glorious  dead ; 
E'en  man  forsakes  his  daily  strife, 

And  muses  on  the  bright  things  flown, 
As  if  in  Nature's  changing  life 

He  saw  the  picture  of  his  own. 

I  often  think,  at  this  sad  hour, 

As  evening  weeps  her  earliest  tear, 

And  sunset  gilds  the  naked  bower, 

And  waves  are  breaking  cold  and  clear, 


IO  November. 

Of  that  glad  time,  whose  memory  dwells 
Like  starlight  o'er  life's  cloudy  weather, 

When  side  by  side  we  roved  the  dells 
Of  dear  New  England's  coast  together. 

'Twas  on  old  Plymouth's  rock-famed  shore, 

One  calm  November  night  with  thee, 
I  watched  the  long  light  trembling  o'er 

The  billows  of  the  eastern  sea ; 
The  weary  day  had  sunk  to  rest 

Beyond  the  lines  of  leafless  wood, 
And  guardian  clouds,  from  south  to  west, 

Arrayed  in  hues  of  crimson  stood. 

We  climbed  the  hill  of  noble  graves, 

Where  the  stern  patriarchs  of  the  land 
Seemed  listening  to  the  same  grand  waves 

That  freed  them  from  the  oppressor's  hand ; 
We  talked  of  spirits  pure  and  kind, 

With  gentle  forms  and  loving  eyes,  — 
Of  happy  homes  we  left  behind, 

In  vales  beneath  the  western  skies. 

A  few  brief  days,  —  and  when  the  earth 

Grew  white  around  the  traveller's  feet, 
And  bright  fires  blazed  on  every  hearth, 

We  parted  never  more  to  meet 
Uni.il  I  go  where  thou  art  gone, 

From  this  dark  world  of  death  and  blight, 
And  walk  with  thee  above  the  sun 

That  sank  upon  thy  grave  to-night. 


November.  1 1 

I  hear  the  muffled  tramp  of  years 

Come  stealing  up  the  slope  of  Time ; 
They  bear  a  train  of  smiles  and  tears, 

Of  burning  hopes  and  dreams  sublime  : 
But  future  years  may  never  fling 

A  treasure  from  their  passing  hours, 
Like  those  that  come  on  sleepless  wing, 

From  memory's  golden  plain  of  flowers. 

The  morning  breeze  of  long  ago 

Sweeps  o'er  my  brain  with  soft  control, 
Fanning  the  embers  to  a  glow 

Amidst  the  ashes  round  my  soul ; 
And  by  the  dim  and  flickering  light 

I  see  thy  beauteous  form  appear, 
Like  one  returned  from  wanderings  bright, 

To  bless  my  lonely  moments  here. 


12  My  Mother  is  Near. 


MY  MOTHER  IS  NEAR. 

SWEET  mother,  the  birds  from  our  bowers  have  fled, 

The  reaper  has  gathered  his  sheaves, 
The  glorious  summer  lies  silent  and  dead, 

And  the  land  like  a  pale  mourner  grieves  ; 
But  the  garden  of  mem'ry  is  blooming  to-day 

With  flowers  and  leaves  ever  new, 
And  the  birds  and  the  fountains  around  it  that  play 

Are  singing,  dear  mother,  of  you. 

Like  green  shores  receding  beyond  the  blue  seas 

Seem  the  years  by  your  tenderness  blest, 
And  youth's  merry  music  grows  faint  on  the  breeze 

That  is  wafting  me  on  to  life's  west ; 
Yet  beautiful  seems  the  mild  glance  of  your  eye, 

And  the  blessing  your  fond  spirit  gave, 
As  the  mists  of  the  valley  hang  bright  in  the  sky 

Though  the  mountains  are  lost  in  the  wave. 

I  wonder,  sometimes,  if  the  souls  that  have  flown 

Return  to  the  mourners  again, 
And  I  ask  for  a  sign  from  the  trackless  unknown 

Where  millions  have  questioned  in  vain ; 


My  Mother  is  Near.  13 

I  see  not  your  meek,  loving  face  through  the  strife 
That  would  blind  me  with  doubting  and  fear, 

But  a  voice  murmurs  "  Peace  "  to  the  tumult  of  life, 
And  I  know  that  my  mother  is  near. 

The  cold  world  may  cover  my  pathway  with  frowns, 

And  mingle  with  bitter  each  joy ; 
It  may  load  me  with  crosses,  and  rob  me  of  crowns, 

I  have  treasures  it  cannot  destroy : 
There's  a  green,  sunny  isle  in  the  depths  of  my  soul 

Whose  roses  the  winds  never  strew, 
And  the  billows  and  breezes  around  it  that  roll 

Bring  tidings  of  heaven  and  you. 


14  The  Captains  Signal. 


THE   CAPTAIN'S  SIGNAL. 

I  AM  safe  in  port,  but  I  watch  and  wait 
For  another  boat  to  bring  my  Mate,  — 
The  faithful  Mate,  who,  in  calm  and  strife, 
Had  cruised  with  me  o'er  the  seas  of  life. 
I  left  our  crew  at  the  close  of  day,  — 
It  is  hardly  a  cable's  length  away, — 
And  stepped  ashore  in  a  quiet  bay ; 
A  silver  cloud  on  the  lowlands  lay, 
And  through  the  mist,  by  a  radiant  band, 
I  was  borne  across  o'er  the  border  land. 

And  my  Mate  sits  gazing  out  through  tears, 

For  her  heart  goes  back  to  our  youthful  years, 

When  all  the  storms  of  the  ocean  wide 

Might  beat  and  break  o'er  the  good  ship's  side, 

And  never  a  sturdy  spar  or  mast 

Would  yield  at  the  rage  of  tide  or  blast, 

And  never  a  sail  at  the  storm-king's  frown, 

Like  a  frightened  bird  would  flutter  down, 

And  never  a  spar  nor  a  timber  start 

From  her  maintop  high  to  her  oaken  heart. 


The  Captains  Signal.  \\ 

0  Mate  of  my  life  !  though  hid  from  view 
By  the  silver  mist,  I  am  guarding  you, 
And  will  linger  near  till  the  day  is  done, 
And  the  white  sail  furled  in  the  western  sun ; 
When  the  boat-keel  grates  on  the  golden  strand, 
Ere  the  hulk  sinks  down  in  the  shifting  sand, 

1  will  welcome  you  to  the  bright  green  land,  — 
You  shall  see  my  face,  you  will  grasp  my  hand, 
And  wander  with  me  the  New  Realm  o'er, 
Where  the  dreams  of  youth  can  be  lost  no  more. 


1 6  Ocean  Musings. 


OCEAN  MUSINGS. 

THE  sun  has  hid  his  fiery  eye 
'Neath  quiet  evening's  jewelled  brow, 

And  from  her  yellow  casement  in  the  sky 
The  musing  moon  is  gazing  now : 
The  clear,  soft  glimmer  of  her  crown 
Behind  us  paves  the  waters  wide, 

While,  from  their  distant  walls,  her  guards  look  down 
To  see  their  faces  in  the  tide. 

A  spell  of  tranquil  glory  binds 
The  bosom  of  the  voiceless  deep, 

And,  gently  dimpled  by  the  powerless  winds, 
The  waves  in  laughing  beauty  sleep : 
And,  basking  'neath  the  dreamy  smiles 
Of  mingled  shade  and  misty  light, 

Lie  the  dim  summits  of  our  native  isles, 
Reposing  in  the  arms  of  night. 

Slowly  our  bark,  to  realms  more  new, 
Moves  on  before  the  moving  moon, 
While  we  look  back  to  take  our  lingering  view, 
Through  night's  mysterious  summer  noon, 


Ocean  Musings.  17 

Of  happy  scenes  forever  flown,  — 
Scenes  which  now  beam  from  yon  loved  shore, 
More  bright  than  when  we  deemed  them  all  our  own, 
And  time  flew  lightly,  gayly  o'er. 

Thus,  when  the  sun  of  Hope's  bright  day 
Sinks  down  behind  Life's  lonely  main, 

Will  the  mild  moon  of  memory  lend  her  ray, 
Disclosing  those  fair  scenes  again, 
Where  sleep  the  smiles  of  youth's  lost  dream : 
And  manhood's  eye  with  tears  shall  fill, 

To  see  the  waves  of  vanished  glory  gleam 
More  lovely  and  enchanting  still. 


1 8  The  Silver  Pilgrim. 


THE  SILVER  PILGRIM. 

WE  knew  him  many  years  ago, 

One  of  a  band  of  noble  boys, 

On  old  Chautauqua's  grassy  plains, 

A  stranger  to  life's  bitter  pains, 

Before  his  deep  eyes  caught  the  glow 

Of  manhood's  graver  aims  and  joys  : 

Before  ambition's  fever  dream 

Had  launched  him  on  the  restless  stream 

Of  human  lives,  that  surged  and  rolled 

Across  the  world  in  search  of  gold,  — 

The  stream  whose  bed  is  filled  with  graves 

Of  thousands  strangled  in  the  waves 

While  looking  out  with  eager  eyes 

Toward  the  ever-flitting  prize,  — 

The  stream  whose  noisy  billows  chase 

Around  the  Rocky  Mountains'  base, 

Then  rolling  on,  with  tumult  fills 

The  silver  city  of  the  hills,1 

Whence  leap  the  ocean's  new-born  rills, 

The  mountain  city  of  the  West,  — 

A  hammock  swung  from  crest  to  crest, 

A  hammock  hung  to  fast'nings  rude 

Up  in  the  awful  solitude 

1  Leadville,  Colorado. 


The  Silver  Pilgrim.  19 

Where  twice  ten  thousand  souls  abide 
Ten  thousand  feet  above  the  tide 
That  kisses  with  its  foamy  lips 
The  keels  of  fifty  thousand  ships, 
And  clutches  with  its  briny  hands 
The  outlines  of  a  thousand  lands. 

The  years  rolled  by,  —  his  feet  had  pressed 

The  trails  that  cross  the  high  divide 
That  sends  its  fountains  east  and  west, 

To  inland  sea  and  ocean  wide  ; 
And  still  the  same  unrest  remained 

That  chafes  in  every  earnest  soul 
Which  strives  for  objects  unattained, 

Yet  knows  that  earth  holds  not  the  goal. 

And  when,  at  last,  "  his  time  had  come," 

Before  the  years  that  mark  man's  prime 
Had  fallen  from  the  boughs  of  time, 
It  found  him  where  the  busy  hum 
Of  stranger  voices  rose  and  fell, 
While  yet  a  parent's  late  farewell, 
From  hearts  that  were  too  full  to  speak, 
Was  lingering  fresh  on  lip  and  cheek. 

On  one  of  those  soft  summer's  days 
Which  only  mountain  regions  know, 

Where  earth  is  like  a  hymn  of  praise, 

And  heaven  seems  list'ning  near  and  low, 

They  brought  him  to  the  "miner's  rest," 

With  fever  in  his  weary  breast, 


2O  The  Silver  Pilgrim. 

But  in  his  soul  that  holy  trust 

Which  comes  at  last  to  cheer  the  just. 

There  knelt  beside  that  sacred  bed 
But  two  from  all  the  household  band, 

And  when  the  last  low  words  were  said, 
A  sister's  lips,  a  brother's  hand, 

Were  softly  laid  on  cheek  and  head, 
As  if  to  waft  across  the  land, 

O'er  mountains  vast  and  deserts  drear, 

The  signs  which  all  would  wish  to  hear. 

The  August  moon  was  fair  and  young, 
Its  crescent  o'er  Mt.  Massive  hung, 
And  touched  with  silver-tinted  lines 
The  solemn  canyons,  rocks,  and  pines; 
And  midnight  stars  look  softly  down 
Upon  the  Mammon-haunted  town, 
As  though  they  viewed  with  mournful  ken 
The  griefs  that  cloud  the  homes  of  men. 

Without  a  struggle  or  a  sigh, 
To  hint  that  death  was  passing  by, 
He  joined  the  angels  from  the  sky, 
And  calmly  crossed  the  border-line 

Beyond  life's  crest  of  rock  and  snow, 
And  saw  the  hills  immortal  shine, 

And  heard  the  fountain's  heavenward  flow, 
Where  peace  shall  crown  the  weary  heart 

With  sweeter  rest  than  mortals  find, 
And  never  from  the  eye  shall  start 

The  tears  that  prove  the  troubled  mind. 


The   Wood  Robin.  21 


THE    WOOD  ROBIN. 

How  calmly  the  lingering  light 

Beams  back  over  woodland  and  plain, 

As  an  infant,  ere  closing  its  eyelids  at  night, 
Looks  back  on  its  mother  again. 

The  wood  robin  sings  at  my  door, 

And  her  song  is  the  sweetest  I  hear 
From  all  the  sweet  birds  that  incessantly  pour 

Their  notes  through  the  noon  of  the  year. 

'Twas  thus  in  my  boyhood  time, 

That  season  of  emerald  and  gold, 
Ere   the  storms  and  the   shadows  that  fall  on  our 
prime 

Had  told  me  that  pleasures  grow  old ; 

I  loved,  in  the  warm  summer  eves, 

To  recline  on  the  welcoming  sod, 
By  the   broad   spreading    temple   of    twilight   and 
leaves, 

Where  the  wood  robin  worshipped  her  God. 


22  The   Wood  Robin. 

I  knew  not  that  life  could  endure 

The  burden  it  beareth  to-day, 
And  I  felt  that  my  soul  was  as  happy  and  pure 

As  the  tones  of  the  wood  robin's  lay. 

Oh  beautiful,  beautiful  youth, 

With  its  visions  of  hope  and  love, 
How  cruel  is  life  to  reveal  us  the  truth, 

That  peace  only  liveth  above  1 

The  wood  robin  trills  the  same  tune 
From  her  thicket  in  garden  and  glen ; 

And   the   landscape   and   sky,  and   the  twilight  of 

June, 
Look  lovely  and  glowing  as  then. — 

But  I  think  of  the  glories  that  fell 

In  the  harvest  of  sorrow  and  tears, 
Till  the  song  of  the  forest  bird  sounds  like  a  knell, 

Tolling  back  through  the  valley  of  years. 

Sweet  bird,  as  thou  singest,  forlorn 

Though  the  visions  that  rise  from  the  past, 

The  deep  of  the  future  is  purpling  with  morn, 
And  its  mystery  melting  at  last. 

I  know  that  the  splendor  of  youth 

Will  return  to  me  yet,  and  my  soul 
Will  iloat  in  the  sunlight  of  beauty  and  truth, 

Where  the  tides  of  the  Infinite  roll. 


The   Wood  Robin.  23 

Oh !  I  fain  would  arise  and  set  sail 

From  the  lowlands  of  trouble  and  pain ; 

But  I  wait  on  the  shore  for  the  tarrying  gale, 
And  sigh  for  the  haven  in  vain. 

And  I  watch  for  the  ripples  to  play 

And  tell  me  the  breezes  are  nigh, 
Like  a  sailor  who  longs  to  be  wafted  away 

To  the  lands  that  lie  hid  in  the  sky. 

But  the  whippoorwill  wails  on  the  moor, 

And  day  has  deserted  the  west ; 
The  moon  glimmers  down  through  the  vines  at  my 
door, 

And  the  robin  has  flown  to  her  nest. 

Adieu,  gentle  bird !     Ere  the  sun 

Shall  line  the  green  forest  with  light, 
Thou'lt  wake  from  thy  slumber  more  merry  than  one 

Who  heard  thee  and  blest  thee  to-night. 


24  Outcast. 


OUTCAST. 

ALAS  for  her  who  sits  alone 

Beside  the  sepulchre  of  hope, 
With  none  to  roll  away  the  stone 

And  bid  the  flowers  that  lined  life's  slope 
Return  once  more,  and  fill  the  gloom 
With  sweeter  life  and  fresher  bloom  : 
Better  for  her  the  voiceless  tomb, 
Without  a  sign  to  mark  the  spot 
Except  the  blue  forget-me-not, 
That  sits  upon  the  lap  of  spring 
Before  the  robins  come  to  sing, 

Or  bluebirds  pipe  their  flute-like  tunes ; 
Before  the  icy  chains  are  riven 

That  fetter  fountain,  lake,  and  river, 
And  from  the  snows  that  chill  the  sod 
Looks  up  to  greet  the  eye  of  God, 

A  promise  of  celestial  Junes, 
When  in  the  quickening  light  of  Heaven 

Our  dead  shall  live  and  bloom  forever. 


By  the  Borders  of  the  Sea.  25 


BY  THE  BORDERS  OF  THE  SEA. 

BY  the  borders  of  the  sea, 

On  his  couch  the  Ruler  lay, 
With  death's  twilight  slowly  creeping 
Through  the  noontide  of  his  day ; 
And  the  waves'  complaining  moan, 
And  the  breathing  of  the  spray, 
Drifted  upward  from  the  bosom 
Of  the  bay. 

From  that  window  looking  out 

O'er  the  ocean's  ebb  and  flow, 
How  his  weary  heart  goes  backward 

To  the  land  of  long  ago, 
Where  a  little  cabin  stands, 

While  the  trees  wave  to  and  fro, 
And  his  mother's  voice  is  singing 
Sweet  and  low. 

And  that  mother  prays  alone 

When  the  toil  of  day  is  done, 
That  the  struggling  boy  may  conquer 
In  life's  battle  just  begun  ; 


26  By  the  Borders  of  the  Sea. 

But  she  dreams  not  of  a  time 

When,  with  shouts  of  victory  won, 
All  the  nation  shall  be  turning 
To  her  son. 

From  that  quiet  cabin  home 

To  the  marble  halls  of  state 
Is  a  life-track  winding  upward, 

'Neath  the  golden  star  of  fate ; 
At  the  end  a  sorrowing  race 

With  bowed  hearts  in  silence  wait, 
While  immortal  hands  swing  open 
Glory's  gate. 


Sweet  Ruth.  27 


SWEET  RUTH. 

THE  summer  will  soon  be  here,  sweet  Ruth ; 

For  the  birds  of  brighter  bowers 
Are  singing  their  way  from  the  balmy  south 

To  the  land  of  opening  flowers. 
But  the  summer  will  fade,  and  the  flowers  will  die, 

And  the  birds  from  bank  and  plain 
Go  mourning  back  to  a  warmer  sky, 

While  I  wait  for  thee  in  vain. 

Oh !  many  a  heart  and  many  a  hand, 

I  have  prized  in  pain  and  bliss, 
Have  found  that  rest  in  a  better  land 

Which  they  never  knew  in  this  ; 
And  of  all  the  forms  that  have  fled  with  thee, 

From  a  kingdom  fraught  with  tears, 
There  are  none  that  seem  like  thine  to  me 

Through  the  golden  mist  of  years. 

But  I  never  have  wished  thee  back,  sweet  Ruth, 
In  the  years  that  since  have  rolled ; 

And  I  guard  the  memory  of  thy  truth 
As  a  miser  would  his  gold  : 


28  Sweet  Ruth. 

The  loneliest  glens  of  my  being  know 
How  the  birds  of  peace  may  sing, 

And  the  darkest  waves  have  caught  the  glow 
From  a  guardian  angel's  wing. 


To  Dr.  James  C.  Jackson.  29 


TO  DR.    JAMES  C.    JACKSON. 

GRAND  Prophet  of  Life,  when  thy  sun  shall  go  down, 
And  clouds  fade  in  glory  that  gathered  in  frown, 
And  the  lives  thou  hast  blessed  with  thine  own  life 

and  light 

Shine  forth  like  the  stars  in  the  dome  of  the  night, 
Thou  shalt  look  o'er  the   labor-worn   track  of  the 

past, 

And  thy  spirit  rejoice  in  its  travail  at  last ; 
The  crown  of  the  victor  shall  rest  on  thy  brow, 
And  mortals  behold  thee  as  angels  do  now. 


3O  Art  Thou  Living  Yet? 


ART  THOU  LIVING    YET? 

Is  there  no  grand,  immortal  sphere 

Beyond  this  realm  of  broken  ties, 
To  fill  the  wants  that  mock  us  here, 

And  dry  the  tears  from  weeping  eyes  ? 
Where  Winter  melts  in  endless  Spring, 

And  June  stands  near  with  deathless  flowers, 
Where  we  may  hear  the  dear  ones  sing 

Who  loved  us  in  this  world  of  ours  ? 
I  ask,  and  lo  !  my  cheeks  are  wet 

With  tears  for  one  I  cannot  see  : 

0  mother,  art  thou  living  yet, 

And  dost  thou  still  remember  me  ? 

1  feel  thy  kisses  o'er  me  thrill, 
Thou  unseen  angel  of  my  life  ; 

I  hear  thy  hymns  around  me  trill 

An  undertone  to  care  and  strife ; 
Thy  tender  eyes  upon  me  shine, 

As  from  a  being  glorified, 
Till  I  am  thine  and  thou  art  mine, 

And  I  forget  that  thou  hast  died : 
I  almost  lose  each  vain  regret 

In  visions  of  a  life  to  be  : 


Art  Thou  Living  Yet?  31 

But,  mother,  art  thou  living  yet, 
And  dost  thou  still  remember  me  ? 

The  Springtimes  bloom,  the  Summers  fade, 

The  Winters  blow  along  my  way ; 
But  ov£r  every  light  or  shade 

Thy  memory  lives  by  night  and  day ; 
It  soothes  to  sleep  my  wildest  pain, 

Like  some  sweet  song  that  cannot  die, 
And,  like  the  murmur  of  the  main, 

Grows  deeper  when  the  storm  is  nigh : 
I  know  the  brightest  stars  that  set 

Return  to  bless  the  yearning  sea, — 
But,  mother,  art  thou  living  yet, 

And  dost  thou  still  remember  me  ? 

I  sometimes  think  thy  soul  comes  back 

From  o'er  the  dark  and  silent  stream, 
Where  last  we  watched  thy  shining  track, 

To  those  green  hills  of  which  we  dream  ; 
Thy  loving  arms  around  me  twine, 

My  cheeks  bloom  younger  in  thy  breath, 
Till  thou  art  mine  and  I  am  thine, 

Without  a  thought  of  pain  or  death  : 
And  yet,  at  times  my  eyes  are  wet 

With  tears  for  her  I  cannot  see  : 
O  mother,  art  thou  living  yet, 

And  dost  thou  still  remember  me  ? 


32  The  Bird  of  Washington. 


THE  BIRD  OF  WASHINGTON. 

WHEN  the  winds  are  unchained  o'er  the  plains  of  the 
world, 

And  clouds  burst  their  bonds  on  the  hills, 
When  the  banner  of  storm  o'er  the  deep  is  unfurled, 

And  terror  the  human  heart  thrills,  — 
'Tis  then  that  I  fly  to  my  aerie  on  high, 
And  gaze  on  the  battle  of  billow  and  sky : 
I  laugh  in  my  glee  while  the  elements  rave, 
And  they  call  me  the  bird  of  the  Brave. 

When  Liberty  looks  on  the  woes  of  the  world 
Through  clouds  of  oppression  and  crime, 

When  tyrants  and  knaves  from  their  high  thrones 

are  hurled, 
And  men  break  the  fetters  of  Time,  — 

'Tis  then  that  I  rise  on  the  death-rolling  night, 

And  strike  for  the  brave  in  the  battle  of  Right : 

I  laugh  as  the  legions  of  tyranny  flee, 

And  they  call  me  the  bird  of  the  Free. 


Star  of  the  North.  33 


STAR   OF   THE  NORTH. 

STAR  of  Freedom  burning  high 
In  the  cold,  dark  northern  sky, 
See  the  suff'rer  turn  to  thee, 
Guide  him  safe  from  slavery. 

CHORUS. 

Star  of  the  North,  we  follow  thee, 
We  follow  thee  to  Liberty, 
Nor  dread  the  snows  of  Canada, 
With  freedom's  blood  to  warm  our  veins, 
And  freedom's  fire  to  melt  our  chains. 

When  our  hearts,  bowed  low  with  toil, 
Bleed  upon  a  tyrant's  soil, 
Through  the  gloom  of  slavery's  night, 
Star  of  Freedom,  pour  thy  light. 

When  the  bloodhound's  angry  howl 
Thrills  with  fear  the  faltering  soul,  — 
When  for  life  we  struggling  pray, 
Star  of  Freedom,  gild  the  way, 


34  Star  of  the  North. 

When  we  drop  the  galling  chain, 
When  the  promised  land  we  gain, 
When  we  dwell  where  men  are  free, 
Still,  bright  star,  we'll  turn  to  thee. 


A  Prophecy.  35 


A  PROPHECY  (1832). 

How  glorious,  how  grandly  bright 

Above  the  dark  and  suffering  Earth, 
The  Sun  comes  forth  in  deathless  might ! 

He  has  a  smile  for  every  hearth, 
And  shines  alike  on  scenes  of  crime 

And  paths  of  angel  purity, 
But  never  on  a  fairer  clime 

Than  that  from  which  a  slave  must  flee 
To  find  the  boon  his  spirit  craves, 
Yet  cannot  find  where  proudly  waves 

The  starry  banner  of  the  Free. 
Children  of  Afric's  burning  skies, 

Columbia's  eagle  yet  will  rise, 
And  spread  above  your  bleeding  forms 

The  pity  of  his  sheltering  wings,  — 
Wings  that  have  braved  the  raging  storms 

Which  rock  the  thrones  of  despot  kings ! 
For  Hope  looks  from  the  clouds  above, 

And  Liberty's  clear  bells  are  ringing, 
And  generous  hearts,  like  flowers  of  love, 

From  every  mountain-side  are  springing. 
From  California's  yellow  sands 

To  old  Niagara's  mighty  fall, 


36  A  Prophecy. 

Where  the  broad  lakes  of  Northern  lands 
Leap  madly  from  their  mountain  wall, 

They  come,  —  they  come  in  robes  of  light, 
With  Freedom's  lightning  blazing  o'er  them : 

They're  bursting  through  Oppression's  night, 
And  tyrants  fly  in  dread  before  them. 


Fremont's  Battle  Hymn.  37 


FREMONT S  BATTLE  HYMN. 

OH,  spirits  of  Washington,  Warren,  and  Wayne  1 

Oh,  shades  of  the  heroes  and  patriots  slain ! 

Come  down  from  your  mountains  of  emerald  and 

gold, 

And  smile  on  the  banner  ye  cherished  of  old  ; 
Descend  in  your  glorified  ranks  to  the  strife, 
Like  legions  sent  forth  from  the  armies  of  life  ; 
Let  us  feel  your  deep  presence  as  waves  feel  the 

breeze, 
When  white  fleets  like  snowflakes  are  drowned  in 

the  seas. 

As  the  red  lightnings  run  on  the  black,  jagged  cloud, 
Ere  the  thunder-king  speaks  from  his  wind-woven 

shroud, 

So  gleams  the  bright  steel  along  valley  and  shore, 
Ere  the  conflict  shall  startle  the  land  with  its  roar : 
As  the  veil  which  conceals   the  clear  starlight  is 

riven 
When    clouds   strike    together,   by  warring  winds 

driven, 

So  the  blood  of  the  race  must  be  offered  like  rain, 
Ere  the  stars  of  our  country  are  ransomed  again. 


38  Fremont's  Battle  Hymn. 

Proud  sons  of  the  soil  where  the  palmetto  grows, 
Once  patriots  and  brothers,  now  traitors  and  foes, 
Ye  have  turned  from  the  path  which  our  forefathers 

trod, 

And  stolen  from  man  the  best  gift  of  his  God,  — 
Ye  have  trampled  the  tendrils  of  love  in  the 

ground, 
Ye  have  scoffed  at  the   laws  which  the  Nazarene 

found, 
Till  the  great  wheel  of  justice  seemed  blocked  for  3 

time, 
And  the  eyes  of  humanity  blinded  with  crime. 

The  hounds  of  Oppression  were  howling  the  knell 
Of  martyrs  and  prophets  at  gibbet  and  cell, 
While  Mercy  despaired  of  the  blossoming  years 
When  her  harpstrings  no  more  shall  be  rusted  with 

tears ; 

But  God  never  ceases  to  strike  for  the  right, 
And  the  ring  of  His  anvil  came  down  through  the 

night, 
Though  the  world  was  asleep  and  the  Nation  seemed 

dead, 
And  Truth  into  bondage  by  Error  was  led. 

Will  the  banners  of  morn  at  your  bidding  be  furled, 
When  the  day-king  arises  to  quicken  the  world  ? 
Can  ye  cool  the  fierce  fires  of  his  heat-throbbing 

breast, 
Or  turn  him  aside  from  his  goal  in  the  west  ? 


Fremont's  Battle  Hymn.  39 

Ah!    sons    of    the   plains   where    the    orange-tree 

blooms, 
Ye  may  come  to  our  pine-covered  mountains  for 

tombs, 

But  the  light  ye  would  smother  was  kindled  by  One 
Who  gave  to  the  universe  planet  and  sun. 

Go  strangle  the  throat  of  Niagara's  wrath, 
Till  he  utters  no  sound  on  his  torrent-cut  path ; 
Go  bind  his  great  sinews  of  rock-wearing  waves, 
Till  he  begs  at  your  feet  like  your  own  fettered 

slaves ; 

Go  cover  his  pulses  with  sods  from  the  ground, 
Till  he  hides  from  your  sight  like  a  hare  from  the 

hound ; 

Then  swarm  to  our  borders,  and  silence  the  notes 
That  thunder  of  Freedom  from  millions  of  throats. 

Come  on  with  your  chattels,  all  worn,  from  the  soil 
Where  men  receive  scourging  in  payment  for  toil ; 
Come,  robbers  !  come,  traitors  !  we  welcome  you  all, 
As  the  leaves  of  the  forest  are  welcomed  by  fall : 
The  birthright  of  manhood  awaits  for  your  slaves, 
But  prisons  and  halters  are  waiting  for  knaves ; 
And  the  blades  of  our  freemen  are  longing  to  rust 
With  their  blood  who  would  bury  our  stars  in  the 
dust. 

They  fade  unlamented  from  life  and  from  sight 
Whose  lives  are  but  shadows  on  Liberty's  light ; 


40  Fremonfs  Battle  Hymn. 

They  slumber  unblest  by  fraternity's  star 
Who  have  blocked  up  the  track  of  humanity's  car ; 
Regarded,  when  dead,  by  the  wise  and  the  good, 
As  shepherds  regard  the  dead  wolf  in  the  wood, 
And  only  unhated  when  Heaven  shall  efface 
The  memory  of  wrong  from  the  souls  of  the  race. 

The  streams  may  forget  how  they  mingled  our  gore, 
And  the  myrtle  entwine  on  their  borders  once  more ; 
The  song-birds  of  Peace  shall  return  to  our  glades, 
And  children  clasp  hands  where  their  fathers  clashed 

blades ; 

Columbia  shall  rise  from  her  trial  of  fire 
More  pure  than  she  came  from  the  hand  of  her  sire  ; 
But  Freedom  will  point  the  cold  finger  of  scorn 
When  History  tells  where  her  traitors  were  born 


The  Children  of  the  Battle-field.          41 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  BATTLE- 
FIELD. 

UPON  the  field  of  Gettysburg 

The  summer  sun  was  high, 
When  Freedom  met  her  haughty  foe 

Beneath  a  northern  sky. 
Among  the  heroes  of  the  North 

That  swelled  her  grand  array, 
And  rushed  like  mountain  eagles  forth 

From  happy  homes  away, 
There  stood  a  man  of  humble  fame, — 

A  sire  of  children  three,  — 
And  gazed  within  a  little  frame 

His  pictured  ones  to  see  : 
And  blame  him  not  if,  in  the  strife, 

He  breathed  a  soldier's  prayer,  — 
"  O  Father  !  shield  the  soldier's  wife, 

And  for  his  children  care." 

Upon  the  field  of  Gettysburg, 

When  morning  shone  again, 
The  crimson  cloud  of  battle  burst 

In  streams  of  fiery  rain : 


42  The  Children  of  the  Battle-field. 

Our  legions  quelled  the  awful  flood 

Of  shot  and  steel  and  shell, 
While  banners,  marked  with  ball  and  blood, 

Around  them  rose  and  fell : 
And  none  more  nobly  won  the  name 

Of  champion  of  the  Free 
Than  he  who  pressed  the  little  frame 

That  held  his  children  three  ; 
And  none  were  braver  in  the  strife 

Than  he  who  breathed  the  prayer,  — 
"  O  Father !  shield  the  soldier's  wife, 

And  for  his  children  care." 

Upon  the  field  of  Gettysburg 

The  full  moon  slowly  rose,  — 
She  looked,  and  saw  ten  thousand  brows 

All  pale  in  death's  repose ; 
And  down  beside  a  silver  stream, 

From  other  forms  away, 
Calm  as  a  warrior  in  a  dream, 

Our  fallen  comrade  lay  ; 
His  limbs  were  cold,  his  sightless  eyes 

Were  fixed  upon  the  three 
Sweet  stars  that  rose  in  memory's  skies 

To  light  him  o'er  death's  sea. 
Then  honored  be  the  soldier's  life, 

And  hallowed  be  his  prayer,  — 
"O  Father!  shield  the  soldier's  wife, 

And  for  his  children  care." 


Minnie  Minton.  43 


MINNIE  MINTON. 

MINNIE  MINTON,  in  the  shadow 

I  have  waited  here  alone,  — 
On  the  battle's  gory  meadow, 

Which  the  scythe  of  death  has  mown, 
I  have  listened  for  your  coming 

Till  the  dreary  dawn  of  day, 
But  I  only  hear  the  drumming, 

As  the  armies  march  away. 

CHORUS. 

0  Minnie  !  dear  Minnie, 

I  have  heard  the  angel's  warning, 

1  have  seen  the  golden  shore ; 

I  will  meet  you  in  the  morning 
Where  the  shadows  come  no  more,  — 
Nevermore,  nevermore. 

Minnie  Minton,  I  am  wounded, 
And  I  know  that  I  must  die, 

By  a  stranger  host  surrounded, 
And  no  loved  one  kneeling  nigh ; 

And  I  fain  would  hear  you  whisper 
In  the  twilight  cold  and  gray, 


44  Minnie  Minton. 

But  I  only  hear  the  tramping 
As  the  armies  march  away. 

Minnie  Minton,  I  am  weary, 

And  I  long  to  reach  my  goal ; 
Yet  the  billows  of  old  Erie 

Blue  upon  my  memory  roll ; 
And  I  pause  to  hear  you  singing 

By  the  waters  of  the  bay, 
But  I  only  hear  the  bugles 

As  the  armies  march  away. 

Minnie  Minton,  I've  been  dreaming 

Of  those  moments  gone  before, 
Ere  I  saw  the  sabres  gleaming 

On  the  fields  of  death  and  gore  ; 
And  I  thought  that  you  were  kneeling 

O'er  the  turf  whereon  I  lay, 
But  I  woke  to  see  the  banners 

As  the  armies  march  away. 

Minnie  Minton,  I  am  dying. 

As  the  world  recedes  from  view, 
I  can  see  the  old  flag  flying 

O'er  the  rebel  rag  of  blue  ; 
I  behold  the  heroes  saintly 

Who  have  fallen  in  the  fray, 
And  their  bugles  warble  faintly 

As  they  beckon  me  away. 


Freedoms  Dead.  45 


FREEDOM'S  DEAD. 

AH  !  green  their  glory  long  will  be 

Who  give  their  lives  to  liberty ; 

Their  names  will  linger  broad  and  bright 

When  other  names  are  lost  to  sight ; 

Their  memory  will  dearer  grow 

While  sounding  seas  and  rivers  flow ; 

And,  though  the  world  is  black  with  crime, 

Their  fame  shall  live,  a  light  sublime, 

A  pillar  of  deliverance  burning, 

To  which  th'  oppressed,  for  Freedom  yearning 

May  turn,  as  Israel  turned  of  yore, 

And  view  from  far  the  Promised  Shore. 


46  Sought  but  Never  Found. 


SOUGHT  BUT  NEVER  FOUND. 

WE'LL  sing  to-night  of  other  times 

That  bloomed  along  the  years 
Ere  war  had  clanged  its  iron  chimes, 

And  filled  our  homes  with  tears ; 
And  we'll  recall  a  gallant  form 

That  sleeps  among  the  slain, 
And  dream  that,  safe  from  shot  and  storm, 

Our  brother  lives  again. 

We  know  the  flag  for  which  he  died 

May  never  more  be  furled ; 
We  know  our  land,  though  crucified, 

Will  rise  and  bless  the  world,  — 
But  hearts  must  bleed  while  lands  rejoice, 

And  States  forget  their  strife  : 
We  long  to  hear  our  brother's  voice 

Blend  with  the  sounds  of  life. 

The  God  of  Peace  rolls  back  the  gloom, 

And  stills  the  combat's  roar, 
And  bursting  shell,  and  cannon's  boom, 

Are  heard  in  wrath  no  more  ; 


Sought  but  Never  Found.  47 

But  who  may  count  their  distant  graves, 

Unmarked  by  name  or  mound, 
Who,  'mid  the  home-returning  braves, 

Were  sought  but  never  found  ? 


48      When   You  and  I  were  Soldier  Boys. 


WHEN    YOU  AND    I    WERE    SOLDIER 
BOYS. 

OH,  the  stormy  times  we  knew, 

In  our  suit  of  army  blue, 
When  you  and  I  were  soldier  boys  together,  Will ; 

Ere  they  laid  you  in  the  soil, 

Where  a  glory  crowns  your  toil 
As  the  springtime  crowns  the  gloomy  winter  weather, 
Will. 

CHORUS. 

Oh,  gallant,  gallant  Will, 

Your  noble  heart  is  still 
Where  the  river  waves  roll  in  the  sun ; 

You  never  more  will  thrill 

At  the  wild  bugle's  trill, 
Nor  wake  at  the  roar  of  the  gun,  — 

Nor  march  to  the  war  drum  rolling, 

Nor  march  to  the  war  drum  rolling, 

Nor  march  to  the  war  drum  rolling, 
Nor  shout  when  the  battle  is  won. 

Ah  !  we  loved  each  other  more 
For  the  trials  that  we  bore, 


When    You  and  I  were  Soldier  Boys.      49 

When  you  and  I  were  soldier  boys  in  battle,  Will ; 
And  our  hearts  the  stronger  grew 
For  the  dangers  we  passed  through, 

'Mid  cannons'  crash  and  rifles'  deadly  rattle,  Will. 

CHORUS. 

Though  my  fighting  time  has  passed 
Like  a  storm  upon  the  blast, 
And  I  walk  no  more  among  the  dead  and  dying, 

Will, 

I  recall  the  days  with  pride 
When  we  battled  side  by  side, 
And  the   stripes   and   stars  above  our  heads  were 
flying,  Will. 

CHORUS. 

And  I  still  remember  you, 

Of  the  many  tried  and  true, 
Who  slumber  now  in  southern  glen  and  valley,  Will ; 

And  sometimes  in  a  dream 

Will  the  old  flag  o'er  me  stream, 
While  the  spirits  of  the  brave  around  it  rally,  Will. 

CHORUS. 


5O  Scotland,  I  Love  Thee. 


SCOTLAND,  I  LOVE   THEE. 

0  SCOTLAND  !  I  love  thee  :  I  cling  to  thee  yet, 
As  a  young  maiden  clings  to  her  lover ; 

1  love  thy  gray  mountains,  and  never  forget 
The  glens  which  their  dark  shadows  cover; 

I  know  that  the  long  weary  leagues  of  the  main 
Now  hide  thy  green  valleys  from  me, 

And  I  know  that  I  never  may  tread  them  again, — 
Yet,  Scotland,  I'm  dreaming  of  thee. 

O  Scotland,  I  love  thee :  I  turn  to  thy  shore 

With  a  song  for  each  scene  of  my  childhood, 
As  a  bird  o'er  the  billow  where  rough  waters  roar 

Will  turn  to  her  nest  in  the  wild  wood : 
Then  give   me   the   storm-braving  headlands   that 
stand 

Like  sentinels  guarding  the  sea, 
The  homes  and  the  hearts  of  my  dear  native  land,  — 

O  Scotland !  I'm  dreaming  of  thee. 


America  and  Ireland.   .  51 


AMERICA  AND  IRELAND. 

WE  will  not  forget  thee,  old  Ireland,  now 

That  the  storm-cloud  hangs  over  thy  borders, 
And  the  sigh  of  submission  expires  in  a  vow 

To  be  free  as  thy  girdle  of  waters  : 
The  leaves  of  the  shamrock  are  spreading  afar, 

And  we  honor  the  heroes  who  bore  them, 
When  Sheridan,  Mulligan,  Corchran,  and  Meagher 

Like  pillars  of  fire  went  before  them. 

The  roar  of  the  lion  is  heard  in  the  night, 

As  he  drinks  from  the  depths  of  thy  fountains ; 
But  the  eagles  are  pluming  their  pinions  for  flight 

On  the  crags  of  Columbia's  mountains. 
They  will  fall  on  the  lion  with  talons  of  steel, 

When  the  war-cry  is  raised  by  their  brothers ; 
They  will  strike,  and  the  power  of  the  tyrant  shall 
reel 

'Neath  the  pangs  he  has  meted  to  others. 

Forget  not  the  time  when  the  spirit  of  Moore 
Like  a  tropic  breeze  moved  in  thy  bowers, 

And  warmed  every  garden  and  glen  of  thy  shore 
Till  they  blossomed  with  liberty's  flowers ; 


52  America  and  Ireland. 

But  languish  not  now  for  the  summer  of  song,  — 
Lo  !  the  autumn  wind  over  thee  rages  ; 

The  fields  are  all  ready,  the  reapers  are  strong, 
And  they  rush  to  the  harvest  of  ages. 

O  Erin !  thy  glorious  hair  mingles  with  gray, 

And  thy  blue  eyes  are  swimming  in  sorrow, 
But  the  millions  who  mock  at  thy  visions  to-day 

Shall  view  thee  in  wonder  to-morrow  : 
Thou  shalt  rise  from  the  anguish  now  rending  thy 
breast, 

And  hurl  on  the  scoffer  thy  scorning ; 
Thy  night  shall  be  lit  by  the  stars  of  the  West, 

Till  it  breaks  into  Freedom's  full  morning. 


Two  Conquerors.  53 


TWO   CONQUERORS. 

'TWAS  midnight  on  the  tented  plain, 

The  din  of  strife  had  died  away, 
And,  tangled  in  the  lion's  mane, 

The  captive  Corsican  eagle  lay ; 
No  more,  'mid  shouts  of  victory  won, 

His  pinions  climbed  the  morning  light,  — — 
The  splendor  of  his  noonday  sun 

Was  quenched  in  swift  and  awful  night ; 
They  bore  him  in  his  iron  cage 

To  stern  Helena's  rock-walled  shore, 
To  beat  the  bars  with  baffled  rage 

In  answer  to  the  ocean's  roar. 
There,  haunted  by  the  orphan's  shriek, 

The  widow's  curse,  the  mother's  moan, 
With  battered  wings  and  muzzled  beak 

The  bird  of  doom  was  left  alone  ; 
And  when  he  died  the  pent-up  wrath 

Of  Nature  burst  in  flame  and  flood, 
As  if  to  cleanse  his  blackened  path 

Whose  rule  was  born  of  woe  and  blood : 
And  Freedom  will  his  name  record 

With  those  who  bore  her  name  in  vain,  — 


54  Two  Conquerors. 

Who  raised  on  high  the  victor's  sword, 
But  forged  for  man  a  tyrant's  chain. 

Oh,  silent  man,  whose  mighty  deeds 

Awoke  the  land  from  dumb  despair, 
Who  rose  responsive  to  our  needs 

In  answer  to  a  nation's  prayer,  — 
Whose  trustful  manhood,  warm  and  true, 

Through  every  act  and  impulse  ran, 
Till  foes  whom  war  could  not  subdue 

Surrendered  to  the  kindly  Man.  — 
Oh,  Master  of  each  storied  field 

Where  mortal  man  with  thee  has  striven, 
Till  death  itself  was  forced  to  yield 

And  fly  before  thy  faith  in  heaven  : 
When  every  battle-flag  is  furled, 

And  love  has  wiped  away  our  tears, 
When  songs  of  peace  shall  thrill  the  world, 

Thy  life  shall  tower  above  the  years 
Like  some  calm  mountain,  crowned  with  snows 

Which  o'er  the  storms  of  summer  shine, 
From  whose  green  heart  a  river  flows, 

And  o'er  whose  feet  the  myrtles  twine ; 
And  Freedom's  hand  shall  write  thy  name 

Among  the  few  bright  names  of  Time 
That  glow  with  all  a  conqueror's  fame, 

Unclouded  by  a  conqueror's  crime. 


The  Old  Mountain  Tree.  55 


THE   OLD  MOUNTAIN  TREE. 

OH  !  the  home  we  loved  by  the  bounding  deep, 

Where  the  hills  in  glory  stood, 
And  the  moss-grown  graves,  where  our  fathers  sleep, 

'Neath  the  boughs  of  the  waving  wood ; 
We  remember  yet,  with  a  fond  regret 

For  the  rock  and  the  flowery  lea, 
Where  we  once  used  to  play  through  the  long,  long 
day, 

In  the  shade  of  the  Old  Mountain  Tree. 

We  are  pilgrims  now,  in  stranger  lands, 

And  the  joys  of  youth  are  passed ; 
Kind  friends  are  gone,  but  the  old  tree  stands 

Unharmed  by  the  warring  blast : 
The  lark  may  sing  in  the  clouds  of  spring, 

And  the  swan  on  the  silver  sea, 
But  we  long  for  the  shade  where  the  wild  bird  made 

Her  nest  in  the  Old  Mountain  Tree. 

The  time  went  by  like  a  tale  that's  told, 

In  a  land  of  song  and  mirth, 
And  many  a  form  in  the  churchyard  cold 

Finds  rest  from  the  cares  of  earth ; 


56  The  Old  Mountain  Tree. 

And  many  a  day  shall  wander  away 
O'er  the  waves  of  the  western  sea, 

And  the  heart  will  pine  and  vainly  pray 
For  a  grave  by  the  Old  Mountain  Tree. 


The  Rover's  Grave.  57 


THE  ROVER'S  GRAVE. 

THEY  bore  him  away  when  day  had  fled, 

And  the  storm  was  rolling  high, 
And  they  laid  him  down  in  his  lonely  bed 

By  the  light  of  an  angry  sky  ; 
The  lightning  flashed,  and  the  wild  sea  lashed 

The  shore  with  its  foaming  wave, 
And  the  thunder  passed  on  the  rushing  blast, 

As  it  howled  o'er  the  Rover's  Grave. 

No  longer  for  him  —  like  a  fearless  bird  — 

Yon  bark  floats  under  the  Lee, 
No  longer  his  voice  on  the  gale  is  heard 

When  its  guns  peal  over  the  sea ; 
But  near  him  the  white  gull  builds  on  high 

Her  nest  by  the  gleaming  wave, 
And  the  heaving  billows  groan  and  die 

On  the  sands  of  the  Rover's  Grave. 


58  The  Rock  of  Liberty. 


THE  ROCK  OF  LIBERTY. 

A  SONG  for  the  rock,  the  stern  old  rock, 
That  braved  the  blast  and  the  billows'  shock ; 
It  was  born  with  Time  on  a  barren  shore, 
And  laughed  with  scorn  at  the  breakers'  roar  1 
'Twas  here  that  first  the  Pilgrim  band 
Came  weary  up  to  the  foaming  strand ; 
And  the  tree  they  reared  in  those  days  gone  by, 
It  lives,  it  lives,  —  and  ne'er  shall  die  I 

Thou  firm  old  rock,  in  the  ages  past 
Thy  brow  was  bleached  by  the  warring  blast ; 
But  thy  wintry  toil  with  the  wave  is  o'er, 
And  the  billows  beat  thy  base  no  more  ! 
Yet  countless  as  thy  sands,  old  rock, 
Are  the  hardy  sons  of  the  Pilgrim  stock ; 
And  the  tree  they  reared  in  the  days  gone  by, 
It  lives,  it  lives,  —  and  ne'er  shall  die! 

Then  rest,  old  rock,  on  the  sea-beat  shore,  — - 
Our  sires  are  lulled  by  the  ocean's  roar ! 
'Twas  here  that  first  their  hymns  were  heard, 
O'er  the  startled  cry  of  the  white  sea-bird ! 


The  Rock  of  Liberty.  59 

'Twas  here  they  lived,  'twas  here  they  died,  — 
Their  forms  repose  on  the  green  hill's  side ; 
But  the  tree  they  reared  in  the  days  gone  by, 
It  lives,  it  lives,  —  and  ne'er  shall  die  ! 


60         Meet  me  by  the  Running  Brook. 


MEET  ME  BY  THE  RUNNING  BROOK. 

MEET  me  by  the  running  brook, 

Where  the  drooping  willows  grow ; 
Meet  me  in  the  shady  nook, 

Where  the  silver  waters  flow. 
Friends  we  loved  are  broken-hearted, 

Smiles  have  flown  and  tears  have  started 
Since  the  time  when  last  we  parted, 

In  the  days  of  long  ago. 

Meet  me  when  the  starlight  plays 

O'er  the  wavelets  bright  and  low ; 
Tell  me  of  our  youthful  days, 

E'er  the  heart  knew  pain  or  woe. 
Joy  will  come  to  charm  and  leave  us, 

Lingering  hope  will  still  deceive  us ; 
Life  had  nothing  dark  to  grieve  us, 

In  the  days  of  long  ago. 


The  Exile  s  Return.  61 


THE  EXILE'S  RETURN. 

MY  mountain  home,  my  own  green  hills, 

I  see  your  long-lost  glories  rise, 
I  hear  the  birds  and  gushing  rills 

That  roam  beneath  your  clear  blue  skies ; 
Ah !  here  I  dwelt  in  early  years, 

When  hopes  were  high  and  hearts  were  true, 
Ere  love's  bright  dream  w.as  dimmed  with  tears, 

And  life  had  lost  its  rainbow  hue. 

My  mountain  home,  sweet  home  of  yore, 

I  left  your  paths  in  life's  fair  May, 
And  as  I  view  their  scenes  once  more 

I  wipe  the  starting  tear  away : 
They  greet  me  not,  the  young,  the  old, 

The  early  loved  of  boyhood's  bloom, 
For  years  have  rolled  and  hearts  grown  cold, 

And  friends  are  sleeping  in  the  tomb. 
I  see  my  home  on  yonder  hill,  — 
The  woods  are  waving  o'er  it  still, 
While  far  below  the  torrent  shines 
Like  silver  through  the  tow'ring  pines. 


62  J°ys  °f  my  Childhood. 


JOYS   OF  MY  CHILDHOOD. 

JOYS  of  my  childhood, 

Vanished  forever, 

Days  oft  remembered  which  never  return, 
Flowers  in  the  wildwood 

Path  by  the  river, 

Long  will  their  memory  linger  and  burn. 

Dear  was  the  home  of  my  father  and  mother, 

There  have  I  played  with  my  sister  and  brother, 

There  have  I  roamed  by  the  side  of  another, 

Happy  and  pure  in  my  life's  merry  morn. 

Friends  of  my  childhood, 

Tender  and  loving, 

Scattered  like  leaves  o'er  the  desolate  plain, 
Dreams  of  my  childhood, 

Where  are  ye  roving, 
Never  to  gladden  my  pathway  of  pain  ? 
Morning  that  burns  on  the  brow  of  the  billow, 
Driving  the  mist  from  the  mariner's  pillow, 
Waking  the  lark  from  her  nest  'neath  the  willow, 
Brings  not  the  light  of  my  lost  youth  again. 


Oh  I  take  me  from  the  Festal  Throng.     63 


OH!  TAKE  ME  FROM  THE  FESTAL 
THRONG. 

OH  !  take  me  from  the  festal  throng, 

Where  loving  hearts  grow  false  and  cold, 
And  let  me  hear  one  burning  song 

That  thrilled  my  soul  in  days  of  old. 
I  may  not  feel  that  kindling  flame, 

The  trembling  hope,  the  inward  glow, 
For  dreams  of  beauty,  love,  and  fame, 

Are  faded  lights  of  long  ago. 

There's  not  a  tone  in  Nature's  voice, 

There's  not  a  ray  by  noon  or  night, 
But  lights  the  shrine  of  buried  joys, 

Or  tells  a  tale  of  lost  delight, — 
The  morning  sun,  the  moon's  pale  beam, 

The  stars  that  shine  with  fainter  glow, 
And  bird  and  breeze,  and  lake  and  stream, 

Bring  back  the  forms  of  long  ago. 

Then  take  me  from  the  festal  throng, 
Where  loving  hearts  grow  false  and  cold, 

And  let  me  hear  one  burning  song 
That  thrilled  my  soul  in  days  of  old. 


64     Oh  !  take  me  from  the  Festal  Throng. 

I  cannot  trace  those  winding  ways 

Where  life's  young  flowers  no  longer  grow, 

But,  oh !  I  feel  beneath  thy  gaze 
The  morning  light  of  long  ago. 


Moonlight  and  Starlight.  65 


MOONLIGHT  AND  STARLIGHT. 

FAR  over  ocean,  o'er  moorland  and  lea, 

Moonlight  and  starlight  are  beaming  : 
Wake  from  thy  slumber,  and  wander  with  me 

Down  where  the  roses  are  dreaming. 
Come  to  the  hills, 
Sing  with  the  rills, 

Roam  where  the  river  is  shining  ; 
Oh,  may  our  hopes,  like  the  stars  o'er  the  sea, 

Live  when  our  day  is  declining. 
Moonlight  and  starlight,  silently  beaming, 

Gilding  the  mountain,  silving  the  wave, 
Moonlight  and  starlight,  tenderly  streaming 

Over  the  beautiful,  over  the  brave. 

Daylight  has  flown  to  the  caves  of  the  deep, 

Mars  o'er  the  mountain  is  burning  ; 
Rise  ere  the  song-birds  awake  from  their  sleep, 
Come  ere  the  dawn  is  returning  ; 
Sing  me  the  lays 
Breathing  of  days 
Radiant  with  memories  olden, 

Sweet  as  the  flowers  where  the  night  shadows  weep, 
Pure  as  the  moonbeams  golden. 

Moonlight  and  starlight,  etc. 


66  Oreanna. 


OREANNA. 

THE  moon  is  on  the  sea,  Oreanna, 
I'm  dreaming  still  of  thee,  Oreanna ; 

The  stars  are  in  the  skies, 

But  I'm  thinking  of  the  eyes 
That  were  more  than  all  the  stars  of  heaven  tc  me. 

Shall  I  meet  thee,  Oreanna, 
When  life's  evening  shadows  meet  eternal  day  ? 

Wilt  thou  know  me,  Oreanna, 
In  that  morning  light  that  never  turns  to  gray  ? 

Oreanna,  Oreanna. 

The  summer  days  go  by,  Oreanna, 
The  winters  veil  the  sky,  Oreanna ; 

But  winter's  chilling  gloom 

Cannot  quench  the  light  and  bloom 
Of  that  climate  where  the  lilies  never  die. 

Shall  I  meet  thee,  Oreanna, 
When  life's  weary  winter  melts  in  endless  May  ? 

Wilt  thou  love  me,  Oreanna, 
In  that  glowing  spring  that  never  dies  away  ? 

Oreanna,  Oreanna. 


We  cannot  give  Thee  up.  67 


WE   CANNOT  GIVE   THEE    UP. 

RETURN,  dear  one,  return  to-night, 

And  cheer  our  lonely  fold, 
Bring  back  those  hours  of  glad  delight 

More  dear  than  fame  or  gold. 

CHORUS. 

We  cannot,  cannot  give  thee  up, 

We  will  not  let  thee  go 
To  drown  thy  soul,  and  drain  the  cup 

Of  ruin,  shame,  and  woe. 

Nay,  by  those  bright  departed  days 

That  gild  our  home  no  more, 
That  shine  through  memory's  tender  haze 

From  memory's  golden  shore, 
We  cannot,  etc. 

By  Him  who  prayed  and  died  for  man, 

On  Calvary's  storied  height, 
Who  took  the  hand  of  Magdalen 

And  led  her  to  the  light, 
We  cannot,  etc. 


68  We  cannot  give  Thee  up. 

The  days  seem  dark  when  thou  art  gone, 
The  nights  are  filled  with  tears ; 

Return,  dear  one,  and  bring  the  dawn 
Of  happier,  nobler  years. 
We  cannot,  etc. 


The  Captive.  69 


THE  CAPTIVE. 

I  AM  dreaming  of  my  home, 
Of  the  valley  where  the  torrent  dashes  by, 

Where  the  eagle  and  the  wild  deer  love  to  roam, 
And  the  mountains  hang  their  shadows  in  the  sky. 

I  am  grieving  for  the  maid 
Who  will  linger  for  her  warrior  in  vain, 

She  will  listen  for  my  signal  in  the  shade, 
And  the  footsteps  that  will  never  come  again. 

I  am  bleeding  far  away 
From  the  glories  of  my  native  mountain  sky, 

And  I'm  longing  in  my  bondage  for  the  day 
When  the  foe  shall  lead  their  captive  forth  to  die. 

In  my  slumber  I  am  free, 
And,  in  dreams,  again  I  grasp  the  bended  bow ; 

But  I  waken  in  my  solitude  to  see 
The  vision  melt  in  fetters  and  in  woe. 


70  Song  of  the  Indian  Mother. 


SONG   OF  THE  INDIAN  MOTHER, 

GENTLY  dream,  my  darling  child, 
Sleeping  in  the  lonely  wild ; 
Would  thy  dreams  might  never  know 
Clouds  that  darken  mine  with  woe ; 
Oh !  to  smile  as  thou  art  smiling, 
All  my  hopeless  hours  beguiling 
With  the  hope  that  thou  mightst  see 
Blessings  that  are  hid  from  me. 

CHORUS. 

Lullaby,  my  gentle  boy, 
Sleeping  in  the  wilderness, 

Dreaming  in  thy  childish  joy 
Of  a  mother's  fond  caress,  — 
Lullaby,  lullaby. 

Sleep,  while  gleams  the  council  fire, 
Kindled  by  thy  hunted  sire  : 
Guarded  by  thy  God  above, 
Sleep  and  dream  of  peace  and  love : 
Dream  not  of  the  band  that  perished 
From  the  sacred  soil  they  cherished, 


Song  of  the  Indian  Mother.  Ji 

Nor  the  ruthless  race  that  roams 
O'er  our  ancient  shrines  and  homes. 

Sleep,  while  autumn  glories  fly, 
'Neath  the  melancholy  sky, 
From  the  trees  before  the  storm, 
Chased  by  winter's  tyrant  form  : 
Oh  !  'tis  thus  our  warriors,  wasted, 
From  their  altars  torn  and  blasted, 
Followed  by  the  storm  of  death, 
Fly  before  Oppression's  breath. 

Sleep,  while  night  hides  home  and  grave, 
Rest,  while  mourn  the  surFring  brave, 
Mourning  as  thou,  too,  wilt  mourn, 
Through  the  future,  wild  and  worn ; 
Bruised  in  heart,  in  spirit  shaken, 
Scourged  by  man,  by  God  forsaken, 
Wandering  on  in  war  and  strife, 
Living  still,  yet  cursing  life. 

Could  thy  tender  fancy  feel 

All  that  manhood  will  reveal, 

Couldst  thou  dream  thy  breast  would  share 

All  the  ills  thy  fathers  bear, 

Thou  wouldst  weep  as  I  am  weeping, 

Tearful  watches  wildly  keeping, 

By  the  silver-beaming  light 

Of  the  long  and  lonely  night. 


72  Moonlight  Hours. 


MOONLIGHT  HOURS. 

WHEN  moonlight  hours  in  beauty  beam 

Along  the  midnight  shore, 
I  wander  by  the  waves  and  dream 

Of  hours  that  shine  no  more ; 
And  then  the  tide  of  by-gone  years 

Returns  o'er  life's  blue  sea, 
Till  from  the  rolling  mist  appears 

Each  scene  I  loved  with  thee. 

The  moonlight  hours  may  wane  and  fade 

From  yonder  changing  sky, 
The  light  of  youth  may  turn  to  shade, 

And  friendship's  taper  die,  — 
But  let  the  skies  be  dark  or  bright 

That  bend  o'er  life's  blue  sea, 
My  heart  will  view  through  day  and  night 

Each  scene  I  loved  with  thee. 

When  moonlight  hours  their  beams  unite 

Along  the  murmuring  main, 
I  dream  beneath  their  melting  light 

Of  hearts  that  meet  again  : 


Moonlight  Hours.  73 

The  world  may  smile,  and  glory  fling 

Its  glance  o'er  scenes  to  be, 
But  still  my  heart  will  turn  and  cling 

To  all  I  loved  with  thee. 


74  Harry  O'  Lane. 


HARRY  a  LANE. 

THE  sunlight  was  streaming  through  woodbine  and 

willow, 

The  clover  was  blooming  on  meadow  and  plain, 
And  a  bark  floated  off  like  a  bird  o'er  the  billow, 
The  morning  I  parted  from  Harry  O'Lane, — 
Dear  Harry  O'Lane,  lost  Harry  O'Lane. 

The  heavens  grew  dark,  and  I  heard  the  wild  warn- 
ing 

That  tells  of  a  storm  coming  down  on  the  main, 
And  I  knew  in  my  heart  that  the  last  golden  morning 
Had  dawned  on  the  world  for  my  Harry  O'Lane, — 
Dear  Harry  O'Lane,  lost  Harry  O'Lane. 

The  wing  of  the  blast  o'er  the  ocean  came  sweeping, 
I  knelt  to  the  God  of  the  sailor  in  vain, 

And  I  dream  of  a  form  on  the  red  coral  sleeping, 
Where  foundered  the  bark  of  my  Harry  O'Lane, — 
Dear  Harry  O'Lane,  lost  Harry  O'Lane. 

The  morning  winds  play  through  the  bright  golden 

willows, 
I  hear  the  glad  music  of  waters  again, 


Harry  O*  Lane.  75 

But  never  shall  morning,  nor  breezes,  nor  billows, 
Bring  back  the  glad  voice  of  my  Harry  O'Lane, — 
Dear  Harry  O'Lane,  lost  Harry  O'Lane. 


'Tts  Sweet  to  be  Remembered. 


'TIS  SWEET  TO  BE  REMEMBERED. 

OH  !  'tis  sweet  to  be  remembered 

In  the  merry  days  of  youth, 
While  the  world  seems  full  of  brightness, 

And  the  soul  retains  its  truth ; 
When  our  hopes  are  like  the  morning  beams 

That  flash  along  the  sea, 
And  every  dream  we  know  of  life 

Is  one  of  purity  ; 
Tis  sweet  to  be  remembered 

As  the  spring  remembers  earth, 
Spreading  roses  in  our  pathway, 

Filling  all  our  hearts  with  mirth. 

Oh !  'tis  sweet  to  be  remembered 

In  the  summer-time  of  life, 
Ere  we  reach  the  burning  summit 

With  our  weight  of  woe  and  strife  ; 
To  look  backward  through  the  shadows 

Where  our  journey  first  begun, 
And  the  golden  flowers  of  memory 

Turn  their  faces  to  the  sun ; 
Tis  sweet  to  be  remembered, 

As  the  breeze  remembers  day, 


'Tis  Sweet  to  be  Remembered. 

Floating  upward  from  the  valley, 
O'er  the  pilgrim's  weary  way. 

Oh !  'tis  sweet  to  be  remembered 

When  our  life  has  lost  its  bloom, 
And  every  morning  sun  we  meet 

May  leave  us  at  the  tomb  ; 
When  our  youth  is  half  forgotten, 

And  we  gaze  with  yearnings  fond 
From  a  world  where  all  is  dying 

To  a  deathless  world  beyond  ; 
'Tis  sweet  to  be  remembered, 

As  the  stars  remember  night, 
Shining  downward  through  the  darkness, 

With  a  pure  and  holy  light. 


78  Sleep,  Robin,  Sleep. 


SLEEP,   ROBIN,   SLEEP. 

SLEEP,  Robin,  sleep, 

While  mother  watches  o'er  you, 
And  bright  starry  skies 

Bend  o'er  the  sleeping  land. 
Rest,  birdie,  rest ; 

The  world  is  all  before  you, 
And  pleasure  and  pain 

Go  ever  hand  in  hand. 

Sleep,  Robin,  sleep, 

With  mother's  wing  above  you, 
And  soft  angel  eyes 

To  guard  your  sleeping  form. 
Rest,  birdie,  rest ; 

May  angels  ever  love  you, 
And  walk  by  your  side 

In  sunshine  and  in  storm. 

CHORUS. 

Sleep,  Robin,  lullaby ; 
Rest,  birdie,  lullaby; 
Sleep,  sleep,  Robin,  lullaby. 


Let  us  Love  while  we  May.  79 


LET  US  LOVE    WHILE    WE  MAY. 

LET  us  love  while  we  may,  for  the  storms  will  arise 

As  we  sail  o'er  the  blue  waves  of  Time, 
And  the  hopes  of  to-day  may  be  hid  from  our  eyes 

By  the  noon-clouds  that  darken  our  prime. 
We  may  look  for  the   lost  hills   of   morning,  and 
grieve, 

But  the  soft  hush  of  twilight  will  come, 
And  our  souls  on  the  rose-tinted  billows  of  eve 

Float  calmly  away  to  their  home. 

Let  us  love  while  we  live,  and  our  mem'ry  will  rise 

Like  a  halo  of  light  from  the  grave, 
As  the  day  from  the  deep  lends  a  glow  to  the  eyes 

That  are  guarding  the  gloom  of  the  wave. 
There's  a  life  in  the  soul  that  is  better  by  far 

Than  the  glitter  of  glory  and  gold,  — 
It  may  fade  in  the  noon,  but  will  shine  like  a  star 

When  the  proud  world  is  darksome  and  cold. 


So  Marion  Moore. 


MARION  MOORE. 

GONE  art  thou,  Marion,  Marion  Moore,  — 
Gone  like  the  bird  in  the  autumn  that  singeth, 
Gone  like  the  flower  by  the  wayside  that  springeth, 
Gone  like  the  leaf  of  the  ivy  that  clingeth 

Round  the  lone  rock  on  a  storm-beaten  shore. 

Dear  wert  thou,  Marion,  Marion  Moore,  — 
Dear  as  the  tide  in  my  broken  heart  throbbing ; 
Dear  as  the  soul  o'er  thy  memory  sobbing. 
Sorrow  my  life  of  its  roses  is  robbing, 

Wasting  is  all  the  glad  beauty  of  yore. 

I  will  remember  thee,  Marion  Moore,  — 
I  shall  remember,  alas,  to  regret  thee ; 
I  will  regret  when  all  others  forget  thee ; 
Deep  in  my  breast  will  the  hour  that  I  met  thee 

Linger  and  burn  till  life's  fever  is  o'er. 

Gone  art  thou,  Marion,  Marion  Moore,  — 
Gone  like  the  breeze  o'er  the  billow  that  bloweth, 
Gone  as  the  rill,  to  the  ocean  that  floweth, 
Gone  as  the  day  from  the  gray  mountain  goeth, 

Darkness  behind  thee,  but  glory  before. 


Marion  Moore.  8* 

Peace  to  thee,  Marion,  Marion  Moore,  — 
Peace  which  the  queens  of  the  earth  cannot  borrow, 
Peace  from  a  kingdom  that  crowned  thee  with  sor- 
row : 
Oh  !  to  be  happy  with  thee  on  the  morrow, 

Who  would  not  fly  from  this  desolate  shore  ? 


82  Lord,  keep  my  Memory  Green. 


LORD,  KEEP  MY  MEMORY  GREEN. 

MY  feet  approach  life's  western  slope  : 

Above  me  bend  the  noonday  skies, 
Beyond  me  spreads  the  realm  of  hope, 

Behind,  the  land  of  memory  lies ; 
I  know  not  what  the  years  may  bring 

Of  dangers  wild,  or  joys  serene; 
But,  turning  to  the  east,  I  sing, 

"  Lord,  keep  my  memory  green." 

0  land  of  winter  and  of  bloom, 

Of  singing  bird,  and  moaning  pine, 
Thy  golden  light,  thy  tender  gloom, 

Thy  vales  and  mountains,  all  are  mine ! 
The  holy  loves  of  other  years, 

With  beck'ning  hands  toward  me  lean, 
And  whisper,  through  their  falling  tears, 

"  Lord,  keep  my  memory  green." 

Dear  Memory !  whose  unclouded  gaze 
Can  pierce  the  darkest  wilds  of  space, 

1  see  her  morning  watch-fires  blaze, 
I  feel  her  breezes  fan  my  face  ; 


Lord,  keep  my  Memory  Green.  83 

I  would  not  give  the  light  she  flings 
Across  my  future's  landscape  scene 

For  all  the  pomp  and  power  of  kings,  — 
"  Lord,  keep  my  memory  green." 

Let  Memory  near  my  soul  abide, 

With  eye  and  voice  to  warn  and  win, 
Till  Hope  and  Memory,  side  by  side, 

Shall  walk  above  the  tides  of  sin,  — 
Till  from  life's  western  lakes  and  rills 

The  angel  lifts  the  sunset  sheen, 
And  hangs  it  o'er  the  eastern  hills,  — 

"  Lord,  keep  my  memory  green." 


84  The  Mountains  of  Life. 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  LIFE. 

THERE'S  a  land  far  away  mid  the  stars,  we  are  told, 
Where  they  know  not  the  sorrows  of  time ; 

Where  the  pure  waters  wander  through  valleys  of 

gold, 
And  life  is  a  treasure  sublime  : 

'Tis  the  land  of  our  God,  'tis  the  home  of  the  soul, 

Where  ages  of  splendor  eternally  roll, 

Where  the  way-weary  traveller  reaches  his  goal 
On  the  evergreen  mountains  of  life. 

Our  gaze  cannot  soar  to  that  beautiful  land, 
But  our  visions  have  told  of  its  bliss ; 

And  our  souls  by  the  gales  from  its  gardens  are 

fanned 
When  we  faint  in  the  deserts  of  this ; 

And  we  sometimes  have  longed  for  its  holy  repose 

When  our  spirits  were  torn  with  temptations  and 
woes, 

And  we've  drunk  from  the  tide  of  the  river  that  flows 
From  the  evergreen  mountains  of  life. 

Oh  !  the  stars  never  tread  the  blue  heavens  at  night 
But  we  think  where  the  ransomed  have  trod ; 


The  Mountains  of  Life.  85 

And  the  day  never  smiles  from  his  palace  of  light 

But  we  feel  the  bright  smile  of  our  God. 
We  are  travelling  homeward,  through  changes  and 

gloom, 

To  a  kingdom  where  pleasures  unceasingly  bloom, 
And  our  guide  is  the  glory  that  shines  through  the 

tomb, 
From  the  evergreen  mountains  of  life. 


86  The  Dawn  of  Redemption. 


THE  DA  WN  OF  REDEMPTION. 

SEE  them  go  forth  like  the  floods  of  the  ocean, 

Gathering  might  from  each  mountain  and  glen ; 
Wider  and  deeper  the  tide  of  devotion 

Rolls  up  to  God  from  the  bosoms  of  men  ; 
Hear  the  great  multitude  singing  in  chorus, 

Groan  as  they  gaze  from  their  crimes  to  the  sky, 
Father,  the  midnight  of  death  gathers  o'er  us, 

When  will  the  dawn  of  redemption  draw  nigh  ? " 

"  Look  on  us  wanderers,  sinful  and  lowly, 

Struggling  with  grief  and  temptation  below ; 
Thine  is  the  goodness  o'er  every  thing  holy, 

Thine  is  the  mercy  to  pity  our  woe ; 
Thine  is  the  power  to  cleanse  and  restore  us 

Spotless  and  pure  as  the  angels  on  high,  — 
"  Father,  the  midnight  of  death  gathers  o'er  us, 

When  will  the  dawn  of  redemption  draw  nigh  ?  " 

Gray  hair  and  golden  youth,  matron  and  maiden, 
Lovers  of  mammon  and  followers  of  fame, 

All  with  the  same  solemn  burden  are  laden, 
Lifting  their  souls  to  that  one  mighty  name,  — 


The  Dawn  of  Redemption.  87 

"  Wild  is  the  pathway  that  surges  before  us, 
On  the  broad  waters  the  black  shadows  lie  ; 

Father,  the  midnight  of  death  gathers  o'er  us, 
When  will  the  dawn  of  redemption  draw  nigh  ? " 

Lo !  the  vast  depths  of  futurity's  ocean 

Heave  with  the  pulse  of  the  Infinite  breath, 
Why  should  we  shrink  from  the  billows'  commotion  ? 

Angels  are  walking  the  waters  of  death ; 
Angels  are  blending  their  notes  in  the  chorus, 

Rising  like  incense  from  earth  to  the  sky,  — 
"  Father,  the  billows  grow  lighter  before  us, 

Heaven  with  its  mansions  eternal  draws  nigh." 


88  The  Beautiful  Hills. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  HILLS. 

OH  !  the  Beautiful  Hills  where  the  blest  have  trod 

Since  the  years  when  the  earth  was  new : 
Where  our  fathers  gaze  from  the  fields  of  God 

On  the  vale  we  are  journeying  through : 
We  have  seen  those  hills  in  their  brightness  rise 

When  the  world  was  black  below, 
And  we  felt  the  thrill  of  immortal  eyes 
In  the  night  of  our  darkest  woe. 
Then  sing  of  the  Beautiful  Hills, 

That  rise  from  the  evergreen  shore ; 
Oh  !  sing  of  the  Beautiful  Hills, 
Where  the  weary  shall  toil  no  more. 

The  cities  of  yore  that  were  reared  in  crime, 

And  renowned  by  the  praise  of  seers, 
Went  down  in  the  tramp  of  old  King  Time, 

To  sleep  with  his  gray-haired  years ; 
But  the  Beautiful  Hills  rise  bright  and  strong 

Through  "the  smoke  of  old  Time's  red  wars, 
As  on  that  day  when  the  first  deep  song 

Rolled  up  from  the  morning  stars. 
Then  sing  of  the  Beautiful  Hills,  etc. 


The  Beautiful  Hills.  89 

We  dream  of  rest  on  the  Beautiful  Hills, 

Where  the  traveller  shall  thirst  no  more  ; 
And  we  hear  the  hum  of,  a  thousand  rills 

That  wander  the  green  glens  o'er. 
We  can  feel  the  souls  of  the  martyred  men 

Who  have  braved  a  cold  world's  frown ; 
We  can  bear  the  burdens  which  they  did  then, 

Nor  shrink  from  their  thorny  crown. 
Then  sing  of  the  Beautiful  Hills,  etc. 

Our  arms  are  weak,  yet  we  would  not  fling 

To  our  feet  this  load  of  ours. 
The  winds  of  spring  to  the  valleys  sing, 

And  the  turf  replies  with  flowers ; 
And  thus  we  learn  on  our  wintry  way 

How  a  mightier  arm  controls, 
That  the  breath  of  God  on  our  lives  will  play 

Till  our  bodies  bloom  to  souls. 

Then  sing  of  the  Beautiful  Hills,  etc. 


Prophet  of  Nazareth. 


PROPHET  OF  NAZARETH. 

SWEET  prophet  of  Nazareth,  constant  and  tender, 

Whose  truth  like  a  rainbow  encircles  the  world ; 
The  time  is  approaching  when  wrong  shall  surrender, 

And  war's  crimson  banners  forever  be  furled  ; 
When  the  throat  of  the  lion  no  longer  shall  utter 

Its  roar  of  defiance  in  desert  and  glen, 
When  the  lands  will  join  hands,  and  the  black  can- 
non mutter 

Their  discords  no  more  to  the  children  of  men. 
As  breaks  the  gold  sunlight,  when  heroes  and  sages 

Were  rising  and  falling  like  meteors  in  space, 
A  new  glory  broke  on  the  gloom  of  the  ages, 

And  love  warmed  to  life  in  the  glow  of  thy  face ; 
The  wars  of  the  Old  Time  are  waning  and  failing, 

The  peace  of  the  New  Time  o'erarches  our  tears, 
The  orbs  of  the  Old  Time  are  fading  and  paling, 

The  sun  of  the  New  Time  is  gilding  the  years. 

The  mist  of  the  ocean,  the  spray  of  the  fountain, 
The  vine  on  the  hillside,  the  moss  on  the  shrine, 

The  rose  in  the  valley,  the  pine  on  the  mountain, 
All  turn  to  a  glory  that  symboleth  thine ; 


Prophet  of  Nazareth.  91 

So  I  yearn  for  thy  love  as  the  purest  and  dearest 

That  ever  uplifted  a  spirit  from  woe, 
And  I  turn  to  Thy  life  as  the  truest  and  nearest 

To  Infinite  Goodness  that  mortals  may  know. 

0  Soul  of  the  Orient,  peerless  and  holy, 
Enthroned  in  a  splendor  all  angels  above, 

1  would  join  with  the  singers  that  raise  up  the  lowly, 

And  praise  Thee  in  deeds  that  are  Christlike  in 

love. 

Let  my  words  be  as  showers  that  fall  on  the  high- 
lands, 

Begotten  in  shadows,  expiring  in  light, 
While  Thine  are  the  billows  that  sing  to  life's  islands 
In  numbers  unbroken,  by  noonday  and  night. 


92  Where  the  Roses  never  Wither. 


WHERE   THE  ROSES  NEVER    WITHER. 

WHERE  the  roses  ne'er  shall  wither, 
Nor  the  clouds  of  sorrow  gather, 

We  shall  meet,  we  shall  meet : 
Where  no  wintry  storm  can  roll, 
Driving  summer  from  the  soul ; 
Where  all  hearts  are  tuned  to  love, 
On  that  happy  shore  above. 

CHORUS. 

Where  the  roses  ne'er  shall  wither, 
Nor  the  storms  of  sorrow  gather, 
Angel  bands  will  guide  us  thither, 
Where  the  roses  ne'er  shall  wither. 

Where  the  hills  are  ever  vernal, 
And  the  springs  of  youth  eternal, 

We  shall  meet,  we  shall  meet : 
Where  life's  morning  dream  returns, 
And  the  noonday  never  burns ; 
Where  the  dew  of  life  is  love, 
On  that  happy  shore  above. 


Where  the  Roses  never  Wither.  93 

Where  no  cruel  word  is  spoken, 
Where  no  faithful  heart  is  broken, 
We  shall  meet,  we  shall  meet : 
Hand  in  hand  and  heart  to  heart, 
Friend  with  friend,  no  more  to  part, 
Ne'er  to  grieve  for  those  we  love, 
On  that  happy  shore  above. 


94  My  Prayer. 


MY  PRAYER. 

FATHER,  bend  Thine  ear  and  hear  me 

While  I  call  to  Thee  in  prayer, 
Let  Thine  angels  linger  near  me 

In  my  time  of  grief  and  care,  — 
Like  the  sun  upon  the  river 

Let  thy  love  upon  me  shine, 
Till  my  life  shall  sing  forever 

In  the  boundlesss  deep  of  Thine. 

Father,  when  my  lips  are  pleading 

For  the  weary  march  to  end, 
Homeless,  lonely,  torn,  and  bleeding, 

Let  me  find  in  Thee  a  friend ; 
When  like  leaves  my  hopes  are  falling, 

And  despair  has  filled  my  breast, 
Let  me  hear  Thy  low  voice  calling,  — 

"  Come,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

Father,  let  Thy  spirit  guide  me 

Through  the  darkness  and  the  blast, 

Let  Thine  angels  walk  beside  me, 
Till  temptation's  power  be  past,  — 


My  Prayer.  95 

Till  I  view  the  heights  supernal 
Tow'ring  o'er  life's  changing  sea, 

Till  I  tread  the  vales  eternal, 
Where  the  blest  are  led  by  Thee. 


96  The  Isles  of  the  By  and  By. 


THE  ISLES  OF  THE  BY  AND  BY, 

WE  shall  meet  again  in  the  By  and  By, 
Where  the  mountains  gleam  in  the  morning  sky, 
We  shall  meet  again  in  the  land  of  Love, 
Our  Father's  home  above. 

CHORUS. 

We  shall  meet  again,  we  shall  meet  again, 
In  the  beautiful  Isles  of  the  By  and  By, 

We  shall  meet  again,  we  shall  meet  again, 
In  the  Isles  of  the  By  and  By. 

In  the  balmy  Isles  where  the  angels  roam 
By  the  crystal  seas  of  our  Father's  Home, 
There  are  forms  of  grace  and  of  beauty  rare, 
And  the  ones  we  have  lost  are  there. 


We  must  part  in  tears  when  the  twilight  dies 
On  the  far-off  hills  of  our  evening  skies  ; 
We  shall  meet  in  joy  where  our  dear  ones  stand 
In  the  gates  of  the  Morning  Land. 


The  Isles  of  the  By  and  By.  97 

We  shall  fall  asleep  where  the  autumn  grieves 
O'er  the  fading  flowers  and  the  falling  leaves  ; 
We  shall  wake  again  where  the  angels  sing 
In  the  bloom  of  eternal  spring. 


98  Beautiful  Annie. 


BEAUTIFUL  ANNIE. 

BEAUTIFUL  Annie,  silver-voiced  Annie, 

Gone  ere  thy  light  heart  knew  sorrow  and  woe ; 

Beautiful  Annie,  silver-voiced  Annie, 

Oh,  how  we  miss  thee  no  mortal  may  know ! 

Sweet  is  thy  song,  though  the  world  may  not  hear  it ; 

Bright  is  thy  home,  with  the  angels  to  cheer  it ; 

Oh,  for  one  view  of  thy  glorified  spirit, 
Free  from  the  fetters  that  bind  us  below ! 

Beautiful  Annie,  silver-voiced  Annie, 

Gone  ere  thy  young  life  a  shadow  might  feel ; 
Beautiful  Annie,  silver-voiced  Annie, 

Green  is  thy  memory  in  sorrow  and  weal : 
Thine  is  the  splendor  of  joy  undeceiving, 
Ours  be  the  love  to  thy  memory  cleaving, 
Ours  be  the  faith  which  is  blest  in  believing 
All  the  fond  visions  the  angels  reveal. 

Beautiful  Annie,  silver-voiced  Annie, 

Gone  from  our  pathway  in  life's  early  May ; 

Beautiful  Annie,  silver-voiced  Annie, 

Smile  on  our  home  from  thy  glory-lit  way. 


Beautiful  Annie.  99 

Glide  round  the  hearts  that  so  oft  were  thy  pillow, 
Sing  in  our  gloom  like  the  bird  in  the  willow, 
Come  to  our  night  like  the  star  to  the  billow, 
Gilding  the  wave  with  a  promise  of  day. 


ioo  Children  s  Day. 


CHILDREN'S  DAY. 

THE  wintry  winds  have  flown  away 

To  colder  lands  than  ours, 
And  summer  brings  this  joyous  day 

With  all  its  wealth  of  flowers  ; 
We  come  in  many  a  happy  throng, 

We  meet  in  every  clime, 
To  crown  with  love  and  cherful  song 

The  dearest  name  of  Time. 

REFRAIN. 

We  come,  we  come, 

Amid  the  bloom  of  June ; 
Our  hearts  are  light, 
Our  faces  bright, 

Our  voices  all  in  tune  ; 
We  come,  we  come, 

Our  love  for  Him  to  prove 
Who  took  the  children  in  His  arms, 

And  blest  them  with  His  love. 

Let  lilies  breathe  and  roses  fling 
Their  fragrance  on  the  air, 


Children  s  Day.  101 

And  all  the  birds  of  summer  sing 

In  one  melodious  prayer  ; 
Let  mountain,  river,  rill,  and  lake 

Give  praises  to  His  name, 
And  every  voice  of  Nature  wake 

Our  hearts  to  holy  flame. 


IO2  Look  Up. 


LOOK  UP. 

LOOK  up,  look  up,  desponding  soul, 

The  clouds  are  only  seeming, 
The  light  behind  the  dark'ning  scroll 
Eternally  is  beaming. 
Wait  on,  hope  on, 
Work  with  heart  and  hand ; 
Make  room  in  your  life  for  the  angel  throng 
From  the  beautiful  morning  land. 

The  warmth  and  glow  of  deathless  youth 
Shall  crown  the  true  endeavor ; 

The  tide  of  God's  immortal  truth 
Climbs  up  and  on  forever. 

There  is  no  death,  there  is  no  night, 

Nor  life  nor  day  declining; 
Beyond  the  day's  departing  light 

The  sun  is  always  shining. 

Could  we  but  pierce  the  rolling  storms 
That  veil  the  pathway  sunward, 

We'd  see  a  host  of  shining  forms 
Forever  beckoning  onward. 


Leona.  103 


LEONA. 

LEONA,  the  hour  draws  nigh,  — 

The  hour  we've  awaited  so  long, 
For  the  angel  to  open  a  door  through  the  sky, 
That  my  spirit  may  break  from  its  prison  and  try 
Its  voice  in  an  infinite  song. 

Just  now,  as  the  slumbers  of  night 

Came  o'er  me  with  peace-giving  breath, 
The  curtain,  half  lifted,  revealed  to  my  sight 
Those  windows  which  look  on  the  kingdon  of  light 
That  borders  the  River  of  Death. 

And  a  vision  fell  solemn  and  sweet, 

Bringing  gleams  of  a  morning-lit  land  ; 
I  saw  the  white  shore  which  the  pale  waters  beat, 
And  I  heard  the  low  lull  as  they  broke  at  their  feet 
Who  walked  on  the  beautiful  strand. 

And  I  wondered  why  spirits  should  cling 

To  their  clay  with  a  struggle  and  sigh, 
When  life's  purple  autumn  is  better  than  spring, 
And  the  soul  flies  away  like  a  sparrow,  to  sing 
In  a  climate  where  leaves  never  die. 


IO4  Leona. 

Leona,  come  close  to  my  bed, 

And  lay  your  dear  hand  on  my  brow ; 
The  same  touch  that  thrilled  me  in  days  that  are 

fled, 

And  raised  the  lost  roses  of  youth  from  the  dead, 
Can  brighten  the  brief  moments  now. 

We  have  loved  from  the  cold  world  apart ; 

And  your  trust  was  too  generous  and  true 
For  their  hate  to  o'erthrow:    when  the  slanderer's 

dart 

Was  rankling  deep  in  my  desolate  heart, 
I  was  dearer  than  ever  to  you. 

I  thank  the  Great  Father  for  this, 

That  our  love  is  not  lavished  in  vain ; 
Each  germ,  in  the  future,  will  blossom  to  bliss, 
And  the  forms  that  we  love,  and  the  lips  that  we 
kiss, 

Never  shrink  at  the  shadow  of  pain. 

By  the  light  of  this  faith  am  I  taught 

That  death  is  but  action  begun  ; 
In  the  strength  of  this  hope  have  I  struggled  and 

fought 

With  the  legions  of  wrong,  till  my  armor  has  caught 
The  gleam  of  Eternity's  sun. 

Leona,  look  forth  and  behold  ! 

From  headland,  from  hillside,  and  deep, 
The  day  king  surrenders  his  banners  of  gold  ; 


Leona. 

The  twilight  advances  through  woodland  and  wold, 
And  the  dews  are  beginning  to  weep. 

The  moon's  silver  hair  lies  uncurled, 

Down  the  broad-breasted  mountains  away ; 
Ere  sunset's  red  glories  again  shall  be  furled 
On  the  walls  of  the  west,  o'er  the  plains  of  the  world, 
I  shall  rise  in  a  limitless  day. 

Oh !  come  not  in  tears  to  my  tomb, 

Nor  plant  with  frail  flowers  the  sod  : 
There  is  rest  among  roses  too  sweet  for  its  gloom, 
And  life  where  the  lilies  eternally  bloom, 

In  the  balm-breathing  gardens  of  God. 


Yet  deeply  those  memories  burn 

Which  bind  me  to  you  and  to  earth ; 
And  I  sometimes  have  thought  that  my  being  would 

yearn, 

In  the  bowers  of  its  beautiful  home,  to  return 
And  visit  the  home  of  its  birth. 

'Twould  even  be  pleasant  to  stay, 

And  walk  by  your  side  to  the  last ; 
But  the  land-breeze  of  Heaven  is  beginning  to  play, 
Life's  shadows  are  meeting  Eternity's  day, 

And  its  tumult  is  hushed  in  the  past. 

Leona,  good-by.     Should  the  grief 
That  is  gathering  now  ever  be 


io6  Leona. 

Too  dark  for  your  faith,  you  will  long  for  relief ; 
And,  remember,  the   journey,  though  lonesome,  is 
brief, 

Over  lowland  and  river,  to  me. 


The  Guardian  Angel.  107 


THE    GUARDIAN  ANGEL. 

I  COME  not  from  the  weeping  willow-tree  : 

I  sing  of  climes  where  pleasures  ever  thrill, 
I  bear  a  message  of  a  life  to  be, 

When  spheres   dissolve,  and  warring  waves  are 

still ; 
I  guard  thee  in  the  early  morning  light, 

The  noonday  glare,  the  glow  that  paints  the  west ; 
I  gaze  upon  thee  in  the  lonely  night, 

And  mark  each  sigh  that  stirs  thy  sleeping  breast. 

'Tis  mine  to  hover  near  thee  every  hour ; 

To  note  the  cares  that  shade  thy  troubled  face, 
Till  life  anew  shall  lift  the  fallen  flower, 

And    crown   with    deathless   bloom  each  fading 

grace. 

Though  life  seems  dark,  and  hope  shines  dim  and 
far, 

Faint  not ;  I  never  leave  thee  long  alone  :  — 
The  golden  light  that  speaks  from  star  to  star, 

Is  far  less  fleet  than  love  that  claims  its  own. 


io8  Going  Home. 


GOING  HOME. 

Kiss  me  when  my  spirit  flies,  — 
Let  the  beauty  of  your  eyes 
Beam  along  the  waves  of  death 
While  I  draw  my  parting  breath, 
And  am  borne  to  yonder  shore 
Where  the  billows  beat  no  more, 
And  the  notes  of  endless  spring 
Through  the  groves  immortal  ring. 

I  am  going  home  to-night, 
Out  of  blindness  into  sight, 
Out  of  weakness,  war,  and  pain, 
Into  power,  peace,  and  gain, 
Out  of  winter  gale  and  gloom 
Into  summer  breath  and  bloom ; 
From  the  wand'rings  of  the  past 
I  am  going  home  at  last. 

Kiss  my  lips  nnd  let  me  go : 
Nearer  swells  the  solemn  flow 
Of  the  wondrous  stream  that  rolls 
By  the  borderland  of  souls ; 


Going  Home.  109 

I  can  catch  sweet  strains  of  songs 
Floating  down  from  distant  throngs, 
And  can  feel  the  touch  of  hands 
Reaching  out  from  angel  bands. 

Anger's  frown  and  envy's  thrust, 
Friendship  chilled  by  cold  distrust, 
Sleepless  night  and  weary  morn, 
Toil  in  fruitless  land  forlorn, 
Aching  head  and  breaking  heart, 
Love  destroyed  by  slander's  dart, 
Drifting  ship  and  darkened  sea, 
Over  there  will  righted  be. 

Sing  in  numbers  low  and  sweet, 
Let  the  songs  of  two  worlds  meet, 
We  shall  not  be  sundered  long,  — 
Like  the  fragments  of  a  song, 
Like  the  branches  of  a  rill 
Parted  by  the  rock  or  hill, 
We  shall  blend  in  tune  or  time, 
Loving  on  in  perfect  rhyme. 

When  the  noontide  of  your  days 
Yields  to  twilight's  silver  haze, 
Ere  the  world  recedes  in  space, 
Heavenward  lift  your  tender  face  ; 
Let  your  dear  eyes  homeward  shine, 
Let  your  spirit  call  for  mine, 
And  my  own  will  answer  you 
From  the  deep  and  boundless  blue. 


no  Going  Home. 

Swifter  than  the  sunbeam's  flight 
I  will  cleave  the  gloom  of  night, 
•     And  will  guide  you  to  the  land 
Where  our  loved  ones  waiting  stand, 
And  the  legions  of  the  blest 
There  shall  welcome  you  to  rest ; 
They  will  know  you  when  your  eyes 
On  the  isles  of  glory  rise. 

When  the  parted  streams  of  life 
Join  beyond  all  jarring  strife, 
And  the  flowers  that  withered  lay 
Blossom  in  immortal  May ; 
When  the  voices  hushed  and  dear 
Thrill  once  more  the  raptured  ear, 
We  shall  feel,  and  know,  and  see, 
God  knew  better  far  than  we. 


Our  Dream  by  the  River.  in 


OUR  DREAM  BY  THE  RIVER. 

'TWAS  here  that  we  wandered  when  winter  was  over, 

And  saw  the  white  apple-blooms  falling  like  snow, 
The  birds  in  the  trees  and  the  bees  in  the  clover 

Were  tuning  their  notes  to  the  water's  soft  flow; 
The  earth  was  awaiting  the  birth  of  her  roses, 

When  all  her  sweet  voices  in  harmony  sing. 
I  shall  never  forget,  till  the  day  of  life  closes, 

Our  dream  by  the  river  that  morning  in  spring. 

The  soul  of  that  morning  still  lingers  in  splendor, 

The  song  of  the  water  still  rings  in  my  ears, 
That  look  in  your  eyes,  half  reproachful  yet  tender, 
Has   haunted   my  life   through  a  long   night   of 

years ; 
On  the  vast  rolling  plains  where  the  rivers  pressed 

onward 

For  freedom  and  rest  in  the  fetterless  blue, 
On  the  wonderful  heights  where  the  mountains  swept 

sunward 
I've  paused  to  remember  that  morning  and  you. 


112  The  Picture. 


THE  PICTURE. 

IT  was  only  a  symbol  in  soft  light  and  shade 
Which  the  sun  looking  down  in  his  glory  had  made, 
But  the  sight  of  it  touched  me  that  morning  in  May 
As  a  billow  is  touched  by  the  birth  of  the  day ; 
The  landscape  of  Life  at  my  feet  lay  unrolled, 
Its  rivers  of  silver,  its  sunsets  of  gold  ; 
I  heard  the  spring  torrent  rush  down  from  the  hill, 
And,  faint  from  the  lowlands,  the  wood-robin's  trill. 


Completeness.  113 


COMPLETENESS. 

O  LOVE  that  all  my  being  warms  ! 

O  love  that  shields  my  life  from  storms ! 

O  love  that  every  impulse  wills, 

And  every  flitting  fancy  fills  ! 

0  love  that  shines  through  all  my  dreams 
Like  starlight  through  the  summer  streams ; 
That  thrills  with  melody  my  days, 

And  rounds  all  discord  into  praise !  — 

1  lean  my  face  upon  thy  breast 
As  bends  my  noon-ray  to  the  west, 
And  calmly,  in  my  open  boat, 

I  floating  sing  and  singing  float. 
I  wait  no  more  by  wayside  lakes, 
To  dally  with  the  reeds  and  brakes ; 
Behind  me  fade  the  mountain  snows, 
And  in  my  face  the  June  wind  blows, 
While  strong  and  wide  the  currents  sweep 
Toward  the  ever-calling  deep. 

0  love  that  rocks  me  in  its  arms, 
And  makes  me  brave  amidst  alarms ! 

1  know  not  where  thy  stream  may  lead, 
Through  rocky  pass  or  flowery  mead, 

I  only  feel  that  I  am  blest ; 
I  only  know  I  am  at  rest. 


H4  The  Golden  Dream. 


THE   GOLDEN  DREAM. 

THE  golden  dream  of  all  my  life 
Is  framed  in  soft  September's  ray, 

And  rises  o'er  long  leagues  of  strife 
Like  some  blest  island  far  away ; 

Its  memory  has  haunted  me, 

When  love  seemed  like  a  leafless  tree, 
And  charmed  away  my  pain,  love, 
And  sung  within  my  brain,  love, 

Like  music  from  a  moonlit  sea. 

O  queen  of  all  my  royal  hours, 

Before  your  glance  all  sorrow  flies, 

Your  face  looks  out  from  stars  and  flowers, 
And  lends  new  grace  to  hills  and  skies ; 

No  more  I  tread  the  barren  strands, 

Through  lonely  wastes  of  burning  sands, 
I  walk  no  more  in  gloom,  love, 
My  life  is  glad  with  bloom,  love, 

And  all  its  wealth  is  in  your  hands. 

My  every  thought,  in  woe  or  weal, 
Across  your  soul  some  token  rlings, 


The  Golden  Dream.  115 

And  every  new-born  hope  you  feel 
In  my  own  spirit  soars  and  sings ; 

The  love  that  leaps  from  soul  to  soul 

Whose  impulse  Fate  could  not  control, 
Shall  conquer  Time  and  Art,  love, 
Shall  hold  us  heart  to  heart,  love, 

When  Time's  brief  years  no  longer  roll. 

My  life  is  yours,  your  life  is  mine ; 

Like  crystal  waters  interwove, 
No  mortal  will  can  fix  a  line 

To  part  the  mingled  tides  of  love  : 
The  storms  that  vex  the  ocean's  face, 
Can  only  mar  its  outward  grace, 

While  calm  below  its  crest,  love, 

Deep  down  within  its  breast,  love, 
The  waves  are  lulled  in  love's  embrace. 


n6  Loves  Morning  Call. 


LOVE'S  MORNING   CALL. 

COME  over  the  valley,  my  darling,  my  own, 

The  flowers  are  waking  in  gladness  and  dew, 
The  spirit  of  night  has  deserted  its  throne, 

There's  a  blush  of  delight  on  the  mountain's  dark 

blue; 
The  arrows  of  morning  are  winging  their  way 

From   a   quiver  of  gold   on   the   billow's   broad 

breast, 
The  isles  of  the  ocean  are  purpling  with  day, 

The  moon  lies  asleep  at  the  gates  of  the  west. 

I've  seen  the  wild  waters  encompass  your  form 

As  you  reached  in  the  darkness  for  comfort  and 

light, 
I've  heard  your  low  call  in  the  din  of  the  storm, 

And  felt  your  soft  touch  in  the  stillness  of  night ; 
Your  life  shall  forget  all  the  anguish  it  bore 

When  adrift  and  alone  on  a  desolate  deep ; 
The  phantom  of  sorrow  shall  haunt  you  no  more 

'Mid  the  cares  of  the  day  nor  in  visions  of  sleep. 

Oh !  love  is  of  being  the  glory  and  grace, 

The  power,  the  impulse,  the  voice,  and  the  breath ! 


Loves  Morning  Call.  1 1 7 

It  can  rest  in  the  light  of  a  dearly  loved  face, 
Yet  is  stronger  than  edict  and  ruler  o'er  death ; 

If  planets  and  systems  between  us  should  roll, 
And  our  paths  by  the  spaces  be  sundered  apart, 

I  should  know  when  a  shadow  swept  over  your  soul, 
And  be  swayed  by  the  innermost  pulse  of  your 
heart. 

Come  out  from  the  lowlands,  my  beautiful  one, 

I've   crossed   the   dark  mountains   that   hid  you 

from  me ; 
The  young  morning's  laugh  ripples  up  from  the  sun, 

And  dimples  with  smiles  the  sad  face  of  the  sea ; 
From  the  highlands  of  gold  to  the  valleys  of  green 

The  voices  of  summer  are  singing  in  tune, 
And  roses  are  waiting  to  welcome  the  queen 

With   their  red  lips  upturned  for  the   kisses  of 
June. 


n8     /  Care  not  for  this    World  without  Thee. 


I  CARE  NOT  FOR   THIS  WORLD  WITH- 
OUT THEE. 

I  CARE  not  for  this  world  without  thee, 

Apart  from  thee  all  life  is  pain, 
The  flowers  that  bloom  and  breathe  about  me, 

If  thou  art  gone,  unfold  in  vain  : 
The  sun  and  the  moon,  the  twilight,  the  dawn, 
Grow  dim  if  the  light  of  thy  love  be  withdrawn ; 
Ah !  never  can  my  spirit  doubt  thee 
While  hope  and  trust  and  life  remain. 

CHORUS. 

Oh  !  hear  me,  hear  me  when  I  call  thee, 
When  the  moon  is  on  the  mountain  beaming, 
Or  the  stars  are  dreaming 

Where  the  billows  roll,  — 
111  cannot  befall  me 

While  thou  art  near  my  soul. 

Let  other  friends  betray  and  leave  me, 

And  tears  of  bitter  anguish  fall, 
I  know  one  light  will  not  deceive  me, 

I  know  one  ear  will  hear  my  call : 


/  Care  not  for  this   World  without  Thee.     1 19 

The  sun  may  expire,  the  bright  stars  decay, 
But  thou  wilt  draw  nearer  while  worlds  fade  away, 
Ah !  never  more  can  mortal  grieve  me, 
While  dwells  thine  image  over  all. 

CHORUS. 
Oh !  hear  me,  etc. 


I2O  Night  on  the  Prairie. 


NIGHT  ON  THE  PRAIRIE. 

I  AM  here  again,  where  the  prairies  sweep 
Like  the  rolling  tides  of  a  shoreless  deep ; 
And  I  eastward  turn,  while  the  clear,  bright  eyes 
Of  the  planets  flash  in  the  midnight  skies ; 
For  dearer  than  all  the  orbs  that  shine 
From  the  Milky  Way  to  the  world's  low  line, 
Is  one  whose  eyes  are  awaiting  me 
Behind  the  gates  of  the  eastern  sea. 

Far  up  and  away  in  the  starry  heights 
Are  the  changing  spires  of  the  wild  north  lights, 
As  they  form  and  fade,  then  gather  again, 
Like  the  sheen  of  spears  on  the  battle  plain, 
Like  the  gleam  of  crests  through  the  awful  gloom 
Where  the  Arctic  monsters  crash  and  boom, 
And  the  uncurbed  ice-steeds  plunge  and  tramp 
O'er  the  sentry  lines  of  the  storm-god's  camp. 

I  am  all  alone  in  the  waning  night : 

I  have  lingered  here  in  the  growing  light 

Till  the  stars  have  paled,  and  the  skies  turned  gray 

In  the  westward  march  of  the  coining  day ; 


Night  on  the  Prairie.  121 

And  lo  !  my  beautiful  Morning  Star 
Climbs  over  the  brown  horizon  bar 
And  beckons  to  me  from  the  verge  of  space 
With  the  soul  of  day  in  her  tender  face. 


122  Loves  Immortality. 


LOVE'S  IMMORTALITY. 

OH,  the  gladness  and  glory 

Of  life  and  of  time 
When  love's  dual  story 
Is  told  in  one  rhyme  ! 

When  one  face  is  pictured  on  brain  and  on  eye, 
And  one  name  is  written  on  rainbow  and  sky ; 
When  the  robins  sing  love  through  all  seasons  and 

changes, 

And  waves  whisper  love  in  the  arms  of  the  night ; 
When  the  years  rise  before  us  like  green  mountain 

ranges, 
Whose  cedars  and  myrtles  are  bathed  in  one  light. 

Like  the  rose  by  the  fountain 

That  mirrors  its  hue, 
Like  the  rain  on  the  mountain 

That  hungers  for  dew, 

So  your  life  in  the  stream  of  my  life  saw  its  own, 
So  your  presence  brought  flowers  where  no  flowers 

had  blown. 

Oh,  the  clasp  of  our  souls  was  the  glory  of  living ! 
We  shared  with  each  other  in  pleasure  and  pain, 


Loves  Immortality.  123 

For  the  wealth  of  our  love  was  the  rapture  of  giving, 
And  all  that  we  gave  was  the  sweetest  of  gain. 

Like  the  sun  to  the  ocean 
Where  two  vessels  glide, 

Keeping  time  to  one  motion 

Of  breeze  and  of  tide, 

Was  the  spell  of  our  love  to  life's  billow  and  air, 
And  in  sorrow  and  shadow  we  knew  it  was  there : 
We  knew  it  at  midnight  by  stars  shining  o'er  us, 
When  mist  hid  the  deep,  by  a  voice  and  a  breath 
Floating  ever  above  and  behind  and  before  us, 
A  presence  in  darkness,  in  trial,  and  death. 

How  it  sang  through  all  weather 

In  mind  and  in  heart ! 
How  it  willed  us  together 
When  sundered  apart ! 
How  the  sweet  star  of  Hope  cast  her  smile  on  the 

strife 
Where  the  surges  of  fate  shook  the  headlands  of 

life! 

The  landscapes  of  time  have  their  Junes  and  De- 
cembers, 

And  rivers  of  beauty  between  them  that  roll, 
But  of  all  that  my  spirit  beholds  or  remembers, 
Our  love  is  the  warmth,  and  the  light,  and  the  sou\. 

It  may  pass  like  the  shower 
That  watered  the  earth ; 


124  Loves  Immortality. 

It  may  fade  like  the  flower 

That  springtime  gave  birth ; 

The  sun  may  go  down  on  its  gladness  and  bloom, 
And  the  winter  storm  shroud  it  in  drift  and  in  gloom ; 
But  the  rain  shall  live  on  in  the  heart  of  the  river, 
The  rose  tint  ascend  to  the  cloud  and  the  sky ; 
And  the  love  that  is  ours  shall  enfold  us  forever, 
When  fountain,  and  river,  and  ocean  are  dry. 


June  Days.  125 


JUNE  DAYS. 

THE  Queen  of  all  the  year 

Once  more  walks  land  and  sea; 
Her  days  of  bloom  are  here, 

To  tell  my  soul  of  thee  : 
The  dearest  days  of  all  I  know 

In  summer  shade  or  shine, 
For  in  their  soft  light  long  ago 

A  soul  was  born  for  mine. 
O  royal  June ! 
Sweet  flowering  June ! 
Her  song  is  in  the  rill 

That  to  the  valley  flows, 
Her  tender  eyes 
Light  earth  and  skies, 

Her  cheek  with  beauty  glows, 
Her  breath  perfumes  the  hill, 

Her  lips  are  in  the  rose. 

And  though  we  walked  apart 
Till  life's  brief  May  was  o'er, 

The  summer  of  the  heart 
Is  ours  forevermore. 


126  June  Days. 

And  so  the  Junes  are  ever  new, 
And  filled  with  glad  surprise, 
For  all  their  bloom,  their  light  and  dew, 
Are  blended  in  thine  eyes. 
O  royal  June ! 
Sweet  flowering  June ! 
Her  song  is  in  the  rill 

That  to  the  valley  flows, 
Her  tender  eyes 
Light  earth  and  skies. 

Her  cheek  with  beauty  glows, 
Her  breath  perfumes  the  hill, 

Her  lips  are  in  the  rose. 


The  Woman  in  the  Moon.  127 


THE    WOMAN  IN  THE  MOON. 

0  MOON  !  that  from  your  starry  height 
Looks  down  on  river,  lake,  and  sea, 

Go  seek  her  eyes  whose  tender  light 
Is  more  than  star  and  sun  to  me ; 

Reflect  on  thine  the  radiant  face 
That  cheered  my  way  when  all  was  dark, 

And  send  the  picture  down  through  space 
To  light  the  tide  that  bears  my  bark. 

Ah,  moon !  I  see  her  image  now 

Reflected  on  thy  silver  shield, 
It  sways  before  my  vessel's  prow,  — 

The  fairest  wave  and  sky  can  yield. 

1  see  her  face  in  beauty  rise, 

And,  o'er  the  changing  glance  of  thine, 
The  steadfast  glory  of  her  eyes 
Is  beaming  fondly  into  mine. 


128  Our  Love  shall  never  Die. 


OUR  LOVE  SHALL  NEVER  DIE. 

No  matter  where  my  feet  may  stand, 
On  silent  plain  or  noisy  strand, 
On  sailing  ship  or  solid  land, 
In  lowly  ways  or  mountains  grand, 

My  soul  is  close  to  you,  love, 

My  soul  is  close  to  you. 

No  matter  what  my  lips  may  say 
To  turn  the  questioning  world  away, 
In  moments  sad,  in  moments  gay, 
In  clouded  night  or  cloudless  day, 

My  life  to  you  is  true,  love, 

My  life  to  you  is  true. 

The  morning  suns  may  lose  their  gold, 
The  bright  warm  noons  turn  pale  and  cold, 
And  all  bright  things  we  now  behold 
In  earth  and  air  and  wave,  grow  old, 

And  fade  from  brain  and  eye,  love, 

And  fade  from  brain  and  eye. 

But  in  the  gloom  of  deepest  night 
A  rose  shall  wave  in  beauty  bright, 


Our  Love  shall  never  Die.  129 

A  star  shall  hail  the  morning  light, 
A  bird  shall  sing  across  the  night, 

"  Our  love  shall  never  die,  love, 

Our  love  shall  never  die." 


130  Venus. 


VENUS. 

WHEN  Venus  rises  from  the  deep 
With  morning  glory  in  her  face, 

And  all  her  train  have  gone  to  sleep 
Behind  the  paling  dome  of  space, 

Sweet  mem'ries  through  my  being  sweep 
Of  one  whose  rare  and  loving  grace 

Flung  o'er  my  dark  and  lonely  way 

A  promise  of  the  coming  day. 

When  Venus  from  her  throne  of  blue 
Stoops  down  to  touch  the  western  sea, 

Before  her  train  appears  in  view 
From  out  the  calm  Immensity, 

I  turn  to  her,  and  think  of  you, 
Whose  love  is  life  and  light  to  me, 

Whose  touch  controlled  my  troubled  breast, 

And  gave  me  peace  for  wild  unrest. 


/  will  be  with  You.  131 


I  WILL  BE    WITH  YOU. 

)>e  with  you  when  daylight  is  ending, 
And'  sunset's  rare  glories  have  died  on  the  plain, 
When  1  ove's  evening  star  from  her  throne  is  descend- 
ing, 
To  lave  her  sweet  face  in  the  foam  of  the  main. 

I  will  be  with  you  when  cold  dews  are  falling, 
And  song-birds  have  ceased  to  remember  the  day, 

When  dark  rolling  waves  through  the  midnight  are 

calling 
For  stars  to  come  down  and  illumine  the  way. 

I  will  be  with  you  when  daylight  is  breaking, 

And  dawn's  tender  promise  is  kindling  the  skies, 
When  Love's  morning  star  in  the  east  is  awaking 
With  new  life  and  light  in  her  beautiful  eyes, 
I  will  be  with  you, 
I  will  be  with  you, 
On  sea  and  shore,  — 
I  will  be  with  you, 
I  will  be  with  you, 
Forevermore. 


132  The  Boatman  s  Dream. 


THE  BOATMAN'S  DREAM. 

WITH  long  arm  o'er  the  prairies  tossed, 

And  feet  that  bathed  in  tropic  spray, 
And  head  all  white  with  Northern  frost, 

The  mighty  Sire  of  Waters  lay : 
His  fingers  gleamed  with  priceless  mines, 

Or  watered  herds  along  the  plains, 
And  lowly  grass  and  lofty  pines 

Drew  life  and  grandeur  from  his  veins. 

The  June  winds  left  their  mountain  towers 

Which  guard  the  Valleys  of  the  West, 
With  odors  from  a  million  flowers 

To  soothe  the  sleeping  giant's  rest ; 
They  danced  along  his  pulsing  form, 

With  many  a  quaint  and  charming  grace, 
And  threw  their  kisses,  sweet  and  warm, 

In  dimples  on  his  quiet  face. 

It  was  the  time  when  human  souls 
Their  visioned  thoughts  of  Heaven  renew, 

And  inspiration  o'er  us  rolls 

From  rising  star  and  falling  dew : 


The  Boatman  s  Dream.  133 

The  hour  when  higher  aims  have  birth, 
And  passion's  wildest  tides  are  still,  — 

When  angel  pinions  fan  the  earth, 
And  men  may  feel  them  if  they  will. 

An  humble  boatman  viewed  the  scene 

In  silence  from  his  crew  apart, 
As,  slowly  through  the  twilight  sheen, 

His  rude  craft  sought  the  Southern  mart ; 
And  o'er  him  swayed  a  form  of  light, 

Unseen,  but  felt  in  soul  and  mind  ; 
As  lightning  glimmers  through  the  night, 

Vivid  and  clear,  yet  undefined. 

A  black  man  hummed  a  careless  air, 

And  toiled  to  swell  a  white  man's  gains, 
And  little  dreamed  the  boatman  there 

Would  yet  redeem  his  race  from  chains. 
With  folded  arm  and  pensive  eye 

The  boatman  gazed  upon  the  stream ; 
And,  lo  !  the  spell  of  prophecy 

Stole  on  his  senses  like  a  dream. 

And,  like  the  sound  of  far-off  floods, 

When  ocean  choirs  majestic  roll 
Their  wild  psalms  through  the  mellowing  woods, 

A  low  voice  murmured  to  his  soul. 
And  sweeter  than  the  hymns  of  birds 

Which  thrill  the  springtime  of  the  year, 
That  low  voice,  melting  into  words, 

Thus  sank  upon  his  dreaming  ear  : 


134  The  Boatman's  Dream. 

"  O'er  highlands  green  and  billows  blue 

I  bear  the  banner  of  the  Free, 
I  am  the  Genius  of  the  True, 

The  glorious  Maid  of  Liberty ; 
I  led  the  Pilgrim  to  the  rock, 

I  tuned  the  soul  of  William  Tell ; 
I  live  in  every  battle  shock 

That  rings  the  key  to  Slavery's  knell. 

"  God  gave  a  New  World  to  thy  sires, 

When  despots  trampled  on  the  Old ; 
And  I  in  Truth's  eternal  fires 

Baptized  a  nation  for  my  fold : 
I  took  it  from  the  lion's  grasp, 

And  fondly  nursed  its  wondrous  charms : 
I  held  it  with  a  mother's  clasp, 

And  guided  it  through  war's  alarms. 

"  And  I  have  loved  it  since  the  time 

Of  Lexington  and  Bunker  Hill ; 
I've  warned  it  of  the  Old  World's  crime, 

I  pray  that  God  may  shield  it  still ; 
But  God  is  just,  and  time  is  sure, 

And  vengeance  will  arise  at  last, 
To  crush  the  crime  it  cannot  cure, 

In  sword  and  fire  and  cannons'  blast. 

"  What  though  the  palm  tree  smite  the  pine, 
And  Saxon's  first  recoil  with  pain  ? 

The  Serpent  of  the  South  will  twine 
Around  the  Eagle's  nest  in  vain. 


The  Boatman  s  Dream.  135 

Its  folds  shall  know  the  squadrons'  tread, 
The  burning  town,  the  combats'  glare, 

While  Mercy  bows  her  golden  head, 
And  shuts  her  blue  eyes  in  despair. 

"  Go  forth,  sad  man  of  thought  and  care, 

Of  weary  nights  and  anxious  morns  ; 
'Tis  thine  to  toil,  and  wait  and  wear, 

Mid  sneers  and  taunts,  the  crown  of  thorns. 
But  those  who  curse  thee  most  shall  bow 

And  bless  thy  work  in  brighter  hours ; 
The  crown  shall  blossom  on  thy  brow, 

And  all  its  thorns  be  changed  to  flowers. 

"  Thy  people  do  not  know  thee  ;  yet, 

In  yon  black  night  that  looms  afar, 
When  all  thy  earthly  hopes  have  set, 

Thy  name  will  be  their  morning  star : 
And  by  its  light  a  race  of  slaves 

Will  march  as  did  the  slaves  of  yore, 
Unfettered  through  the  Red  Sea  waves, 

Triumphant  to  the  Promised  Shore." 

The  full  moon  climbed  the  skies  of  June 

To  hang  her  shield  on  lake  and  stream ; 
The  river  played  a  pleasant  tune, 

And  woke  the  boatman  from  his  dream. 
And  when  the  Junes  of  many  years 

Had  bloomed  and  ripened  in  the  land, 
A  nation  placed,  mid  hopes  and  fears, 

Its  sceptre  in  the  boatman's  hand. 


136  The  Boatman  s  Dream. 

With  life  unsullied  from  his  youth 

He  meekly  took  the  ruler's  rod ; 
And,  wielding  it  in  love  and  truth, 

He  lived,  "the  noblest  work  of  God." 
u    He  knew  no  fierce,  unbalanced  zeal, 

That  spurns  all  human  differings, 
Nor  craven  fear  which  shuns  the  steel 

That  carves  the  way  to  better  things. 

And  in  the  night  of  blood  and  grief, 

When  horror  rested  on  the  Ark, 
His  was  the  calm,  undimmed  belief 

That  felt  God's  presence  in  the  dark. 
Full  well  he  knew  each  wandering  star 

That  once  had  decked  the  azure  dome, 
Would  tremble  through  the  clouds  of  war, 

And  like  a  Prodigal  come  home. 

He  perished  ere  the  angel  Peace 

Had  rolled  war's  curtain  from  the  sky ; 
But  he  shall  live  when  wrong  shall  cease,  — 

The  great  and  good  can  never  die  ; 
For,  though  his  heart  lies  cold  and  still, 

We  feel  its  beatings  warm  and  grand, 
And  still  his  spirit  pulses  thrill 

Through  all  the  councils  of  the  land. 

The  flag  of  strife  at  length  is  furled, 
Rebellion  drops  the  gory  knife, 

The  spring  of  peace  glides  up  the  world, 
Its  buds  are  bursting  into  life  : 


The  Boatman's  Dream.  137 

Beneath  the  death-clouds,  low  and  dun, 
The  serpent  shrinks  in  black  despair, 

We  lift  our  eyes  to  freedom's  sun, 
And  see  the  eagles  hovering  there. 

Oh,  for  the  hosts  that  sleep  to-day, 

Lulled  by  the  sound  of  southern  waves : 
The  sun  that  lit  them  in  the  fray 

Now  warms  the  flowers  upon  their  graves,  — 
Sweet  flowers  that  speak  like  words  of  love 

Between  the  forms  of  friends  and  foe: 
Perchance  their  spirits  meet  above, 

Who  crossed  their  battle  blades  below. 

'Twas  not  in  vain  the  deluge  came, 

And  systems  crumbled  in  the  gloom ; 
And  not  in  vain  have  sword  and  flame 

Robbed  home  and  heart  of  life  and  bloom  : 
The  mourner's  cross,  the  martyr's  blood, 

Shall  crown  the  world  with  holier  rights ; 
And  Slavery's  storm  and  Slavery's  flood 

Leave  Freedom's  ark  on  loftier  heights. 


138      The  Beautiful  Years  of  our  Love. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL    YEARS  OF  OUR 
LOVE. 

I  STOOD  by  that  stream  where  the  wild  roses  grew 
In  the  green  bloom  of  summer  when  Nature  looked 

new, 
And  I  thought  of  the  time  that  I  roamed  there  with 

you, 

In  the  beautiful  years  of  our  love. 
We  were  poor,  but  the  pearl  of  affection  was  ours, 
And  we  loved  the  glad  world  with  its  sunshine  and 

showers, 

For  life  was  a  wayside  of  fountains  and  flowers, 
In  the  beautiful  years  of  our  love. 

Now  far  from  that  valley  I  wander,  and  dream 

Of  the  raptures  that  perished  with  love's  morning 

gleam ; 
And  day  is  more  lonely  than  night  used  to  seem 

In  the  beautiful  years  of  our  love  : 
For  I  miss  your  affection,  the  rose,  and  the  stream 
That   murmured   its   tune   by   the    moon's   mellow 

beam: 
Ah !  pleasure  seemed  real,  and  life  a  bright  dream, 

In  the  beautiful  years  of  our  love. 


The  Beautiful  Years  of  our  Love.       139 

There  are  isles  in  Life's  ocean  we  cannot  forget 
Till  the  light  of  its  sun  in  the  billow  has  set, 
And  our  souls  never  turn  but  with  longing  regret 

To  the  beautiful  years  of  our  love : 
For  we  dreamed  of  the  pleasure,  and  saw  not  the 

woe, 
Which    Time  o'er   the  scenes   of  the  future  might 

throw, 
And  we  hoped  for  the   joys  that  we  never  should 

know, 
In  the  beautiful  years  of  our  love. 

As  the  exile  looks  back  from  the  waves  of  the  deep 
To  the  blue-fading  hills  where  his  forefathers  sleep, 
Oh,  thus  when  the  waves  of  the  present  time  sweep 

O'er  the  beautiful  years  of  our  love, 
Do  our  souls  from  the  future  look  backward  through 

tears 

To  that  shore  where  the  splendor  of  youth  disap- 
pears, 

And  weep  o'er  the  graves  of  those  time-buried  years, 
The  beautiful  years  of  our  love. 


142  On  the  Beach. 


ON  THE  BEACH. 

O  IMOGENE,  loved  Imogene  ! 

I  stand  upon  the  beach  to-day, 
And  watch  the  white  sails  fading  dim 
O'er  the  blue  deeps  that  lie  serene 

Against  the  low  sky  far  away, 
And  wonder  if  you  think  of  him 
Who  vainly  waits  for  tide  and  gale 

To  bring  his  treasures  from  the  main, 
Whose  hopes  went  forth  like  ships  that  sail, 

And  come  not  back  to  port  again. 


A  Fragment.  143 


A  FRAGMENT. 

OH,  keels  that  cleft  the  seas  of  long  ago ! 

Oh,  sails  that  drifted  in  the  morning  light, 
Till,  lost  behind  the  line  of  ice  and  snow, 

They  gleamed  no  more  upon  our  longing  sight ! 
What  golden  waters  now  around  them  roll, 

Where  isles  of  beauty  sleep  in  living  bloom  ? 
What  glories  draw  them  to  the  Eternal  Pole, 

Whose  headlands  glimmer  through  the  north  night 
gloom  ? 


142  On  the  Beach. 


ON  THE  BEACH. 

O  IMOGENE,  loved  Imogene  ! 

I  stand  upon  the  beach  to-day, 
And  watch  the  white  sails  fading  dim 
O'er  the  blue  deeps  that  lie  serene 

Against  the  low  sky  far  away, 
And  wonder  if  you  think  of  him 
Who  vainly  waits  for  tide  and  gale 

To  bring  his  treasures  from  the  main, 
Whose  hopes  went  forth  like  ships  that  sail, 

And  come  not  back  to  port  again. 


A  Fragment.  143 


A  FRAGMENT. 

OH,  keels  that  cleft  the  seas  of  long  ago ! 

Oh,  sails  that  drifted  in  the  morning  light, 
Till,  lost  behind  the  line  of  ice  and  snow, 

They  gleamed  no  more  upon  our  longing  sight ! 
What  golden  waters  now  around  them  roll, 

Where  isles  of  beauty  sleep  in  living  bloom  ? 
What  glories  draw  them  to  the  Eternal  Pole, 

Whose  headlands  glimmer  through  the  north  night 
gloom  ? 


144  Luther  of  Piety  Hill. 


LUTHER    OF  PIETY  HILL. 

LUTHER  lived  among  maples  on  "  Piety  Hill," 
If  out  of  perdition,  he's  living  there  still ; 
His  body  is  lengthy  and  lanky  and  lean, 
His  virtues  are  leaner  and  far  between  ; 
His  soul  —  if  he  has  one  —  is  narrow  and  mean; 
If  he  has  a  good  impulse,  it  seldom  is  seen, 
For  wilfulness  covers  it  up  like  a  screen. 
Oh,  the  sanctified  sinner  of  "Piety  Hill!" 

Like  the  surly  Missouri,  all  muddy  and  wild, 
The  stream  of  his  being  forever  is  "  riled ;  " 
Abounding  in  sunken  and  dangerous  snags, 
He  storms  and  he  sputters,  he  "jaws  "  and  he  nags ; 
His  tongue  like  the  tail  of  a  terrier  wags, 
Though  the  tail  only  waggles  when  doggie  is  glad, 
While  the  tongue  wags  the  loudest  when  Luther  is 

mad. 
Oh,  the  dismal  old  deacon  of  "  Piety  Hill ! " 

I  wonder  sometimes  what  his  "  new  name  "  will  be  . 
It  is  hard  to  find  names  for  such  compounds  as  he. 


Luther  of  Piety  Hill.  145 

If  his  heart  were  more  mellow,  he  might  be  called 

hog, 

Though  he  acts  like  a  vulture,  and  sings  like  a  frog 
That  croaks  at  the  moon  from  the  brink  of  a  bog; 
And  he  prays  like  a  'possum,  yet  inwardly  swears, — 
His  professions  are  false  as  the  wig  that  he  wears. 
Oh,  the  pious  old  pirate  of  "  Piety  Hill !  " 

In  the  cycles  long  past  —  so  the  oracles  say  — 
An  angel  determined  to  have  his  own  way, 
And  the  effort  developed,  —  oh,  shocking  to  tell!  — 
A  tail  he  has  worn  since  the  day  that  he  fell 
Like  a  fiery  comet  from  Heaven  to  hell, 
And  it  follows  him  yet  through  the  darkness  of  sin, 
A  token  of  rage  that  was  burning  within 
When  he  tried  to  be  ruler  on  "  Piety  Hill." 

Now,  the  moral  adorning  the  barb  of  this  "  tail " 
Is,  that  charity  liveth  though  prophecies  fail : 
Let  Luther  discern  from  poor  Lucifer's  fate 
That  love  lifts  the  latch  of  the  Beautiful  Gate ; 
The  pathway  to  woe  leads  through  malice  and  hate ; 
That  we  carry  the  signs  of  tte  discord  we  make, 
Though  we  "pay  for  the   Gospel,"  and  pray  for 

"  Christ's  sake," 
And  live  among  maples  on  "  Piety  Hill." 


146  A    Western  Tarn. 


A    WESTERN  TARN. 

Lo  !  the  Queen  of  midnight  moveth 
Where  the  tacturn  lake-fowl  looneth, 

Where  the  Frenchman's  dinner  jumps, 

Where  the  Frenchman's  diet  humps, 

And  the  owlet  whoops  and  dumps  ; 
Where  the  ancient  teal  carooneth, 
And  the  bashful  duckie  spooneth 

Round  the  "tarn  "-al  "  thunder  pumps  ;  " 
Where  the  ultimated  polly- 

Wog,  resigning  "tad"  and  "pole," 
Leaps  a  wayward,  frisky,  jolly 

Frog  that  whistles  at  control, 
Hops  and  croaks  at  polly's  folly, 

Fog  and  slough  and  marish  hole, 
Laughs  "  kerchung  "  at  polly's  folly,  — 

Bogulated  in  that  hole, 

Prisoned  in  that  pokey  hole. 


Ode  on  a  Cracked  Bell.  147 


ODE   ON  A   CRACKED  BELL. 

HEAR  the  parish  chapel  bell, 
Fractured  bell,  hear  it  swell, 
Like  a  drunken  Indian's  yell ; 
How  the  frantic  demon  rings, 
With  a  crazy  wheezy  jangle, 
Ending  in  a  triple  tangle, 
Breaking  in  on  song  and  prayer, 
Almost  moving  saints  to  swear. 

"Hang the  bell, 

Whang  the  bell, 

Bang  the  bell, 

Dang  the  bell. 
Blast  the  bell,  bell,  bell ! " 

How  it  swings, 

How  it  clings 

To  the  ever-shrieking  belfry ; 
How  it  jingle,  wrangle,  dings, 
And,  like  souls  in  torment,  sings 
Of  unutterable  things  ! 
How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long 
Must  that  phantom  of  a  gong, 
Of  a  heathen  Chinese  gong, 


148  Ode  on  a  Cracked  Bell. 

Wheeze  and  bray,  night  and  day, 
AnH  to  meek  dissenters  say, 
When  they  try  to  sing  or  pray, 
"  Apostolical  succession, 
Apostolical  succession," 
With  diabolical  obsession, 
And  with  infamous  expression, 
And  a  damnable  transgression 
Of  all  feeling,  sense,  and  sound  ? 


The  East  and  the   West.  149 


THE  EAST  AND   THE  WEST. 

LAND  where  the  bright  day  dies 

On  the  empire's  rugged  breast, 
Where  the  river  sources  rise, 

And  roll  to  the  east  and  west, 
We  hail  thee,  we  hail  thee, 

From  our  high  and  massive  walls, 
Where  the  mighty  soul  of  commerce 

To  the  "  star  of  empire  "  calls, 
We  hail  thee,  we  hail  thee 

From  many  a  tender  shrine 
Where  our  loving  mothers  slumber 

In  the  shade  of  oak  and  pine, — 
From  many  a  field  of  battle 

By  the  blood  of  heroes  blest, 
Where  the  eagles  fought  together 

For  the  grand  old  parent  nest. 

Land  of  the  morning  light, 
Of  the  pine  and  drifting  snow, 

Of  the  dark  green  mountain  height, 
And  rivers  that  dawnward  flow. 

We  hail  thee,  we  hail  thee, 

From  our  prairies  broad  and  free, 


150  The  East  and  the   West. 

Where  the  fields  of  grain  are  waving 

Like  the  billows  of  the  sea. 
We  hail  thee,  we  hail  thee, 

From  our  western  summits  bold 
Where  the  rocks  are  tied  together 

With  yellow  threads  of  gold,  — 
Where  the  awful  shadows  linger 

In  our  canyons  wild  and  grim, 
And  the  torrent  god  is  singing 

His  everlasting  hymn. 


To  my  Mother's  Spirit.  151 


TO  MY  MOTHER'S  SPIRIT. 

COME  to  my  weary  heart,  wancTring  from  duty, 

Spirit  that  guarded  my  pathway  in  youth,  — 
Come  in  the  beams  of  thy  glorified  beauty, 

Smile  on  a  soul  that  is  struggling  for  truth  ; 
Thou  hast  been  with  me  when  pleasures  were  fleeing, 

Silv'ring  the  nighttime  of  sorrow  with  love, 
Floating  like  light  through  the  clouds  of  my  being,  — 

Come  to  me  now  from  thy  dwelling  above. 

Come  to  my  couch  when  the  wide  world  reposes, 

Watch  o'er  the  slumbers  and  visions  of  night, 
Rest  on  my  hopes  like  the  dew  on  the  roses  ; 

Bring  all  the  budding  ones  forth  to  the  light. 
True  as  the  stars  o'er  the  mountain  storm  playing, 

Faithful  through  trial,  temptation,  and  pain, 
Thou  hast  been  true  when  my  spirit  was  straying. 

Come,  and  I  never  will  grieve  thee  again. 


j  52  Dawn. 


DAWN. 

0  VENUS  !  lift  your  face  once  more 
Above  the  surging  of  the  main. 

1  stand  upon  a  troubled  shore 

And  look  and  long  for  you  in  vain  ; 
I  hear  the  ocean  sob  and  call, 

Like  some  great  life  by  love  unblest ; 
I  see  the  waters  rise  and  fall 

Like  warring  passions  in  the  breast ; 
The  foreheads  of  the  far-off  isles 

Are  bathing  in  the  springs  of  dawn  : 
O  Venus  !  lift  your  face  in  smiles, 

And  tell  me  that  the  night  is  gone. 


The   Woman  and  the  Angel.  153 


THE   WOMAN  AND    THE  ANGEL. 

SHE  sat  on  the  side  of  the  mountain, 

The  cataract  thundered  below ; 
Above  her  the  roofs  of  the  ages 

Were  lifting  their  thatches  of  snow ; 
The  landscape  was  swimming  in  glory, 

The  sky  and  the  earth  were  in  love, 
And  the  great  peaks  seemed  hanging  like  anchors 

Cast  out  from  the  planets  above. 

'Twas  the  land  where  the  pale  lips  of  winter 

To  the  ripe  lips  of  August  are  pressed ; 
Where  the  dead,  frozen  heart  of  the  rain-drop 

Revives  on  the  lily's  white  breast ; 
The  cool  tide  of  summer  poured  round  us, 

The  bird  in  the  aspen  sang  sweet, 
And  the  cedar-ribbed  shaft  of  the  miner 

Yawned  darkly  and  deep  at  our  feet. 

She  had  turned  from  the  vision  of  splendor, 
Which  Nature  before  us  had  spread, 

To  a  form  that  went  down  and  ascended 
By  the  windlass  that  wound  overhead; 


154  The    Woman  and  the  Angel. 

Then  her  face,  for  a  moment  averted, 
Was  raised  to  the  blue  of  the  skies, 

And  I  saw  the  white  soul  of  the  woman 
Shine  out  through  the  blue  of  her  eyes. 

Unmoved  by  the  voices  without  her, 

She  hearkened  to  voices  within, 
And  I  know  that  the  angels  had  spoken 

To  save  her  from  anguish  and  sin. 
Two  spirits  contended  above  her,  — 

One  fierce  and  malignant,  one  mild ; 
One  strove  for  a  treacherous  lover, 

One  plead  for  a  passion-swayed  child. 

Then  she  stooped,  as  our  voices  grew  louder 

In  converse,  in  music  and  mirth, 
And  traced,  with  her  delicate  finger, 

Strange  lines  in  the  dust  of  the  earth ; 
She  knew  not  their  language  or  import : 

A  spirit  directed  her  hand, 
And  Heaven  alone  might  interpret 

Those  characters  written  in  sand. 

She  ceased,  for  the  conflict  was  over, 

The  glory  had  gone  from  her  face ; 
And  a  look,  half  despairing,  half  loving, 

Came  forth,  and  was  throned  in  its  place ; 
And  a  storm,  broken  loose  from  the  mountain, 

Swept  over  the  vale  in  its  flight ; 
And  the  sweet  bird  that  sang  in  the  aspen 

Fluttered  downward  in  dumbness  and  fright. 


The   Woman  and  the  Angel.  155 

She  descended  that  night  to  the  valley, 

Oppressed  with  confusion  and  pain ; 
The  tempter  had  conquered  the  tempted, 

The  angel  had  pleaded  in  vain  : 
And  the  will  of  her  captor  surged  'round  her 

Like  the  tide  that  encircles  the  bark, 
Which,  rudderless,  crewless,  and  helpless, 

Drifts  out  in  the  desolate  dark. 

But  the  angel  will  follow  her  footsteps 

O'er  mountains,  in  cities  and  ships : 
She  will  hear  its  low  call  in  the  midnight, 

And  awake  to  the  touch  of  its  lips  ; 
And  her  soul  from  the  spell  shall  be  lifted, 

For  the  woman  illumines  it  still ; 
And  the  spirit  that  conquered  the  tempest 

Shall  strengthen  the  links  of  her  will. 


156  The  Infinite  Mother. 


THE  INFINITE  MOTHER. 

I  AM  mother  of  Life,  and  companion  of  God, 
I  move  in  each  mote  from  the  suns  to  the  sod, 
I  brood  in  all  darkness,  I  gleam  in  all  light, 
I  fathom  all  depth  and  I  crown  every  height ; 
Within  me  the  globes  of  the  universe  roll, 
And  through  me  all  matter  takes  impress  and  soul. 
Without  me  all  forms  into  chaos  would  fall, 
I  was  under,  within  and  around,  over  all, 
Ere  the  stars  of  the  morning  in  harmony  sung, 
Or  the  systems  and  suns  from  their  grand  arches 
swung. 

I  loved  you,  O  Earth,  in  those  cycles  profound, 
When  darkness  unbroken  encircled  you  round, 
And  the  fruit  of  creation,  the  race  of  mankind, 
Was  only  a  dream  in  the  Infinite  mind ; 
I  nursed  you,  O  Earth,  ere  your  oceans  were  born, 
Or  your  mountains  rejoiced  in  the  gladness  of  morn, 
When  naked  and  helpless  you  came  from  the  womb, 
Ere  the  seasons  had  decked  you  with  verdure  and 

bloom, 

And  all  that  appeared  of  your  form  or  your  face 
Was  a  bare,  lurid  ball  in  the  vast  wilds  of  space. 


The  Infinite  Mother.  157 

When  your  bosom  was  shaken  and  rent  with  alarms 
I  calmed  and  caressed  you  to  sleep  in  my  arms, 
I  sung  o'er  your  pillow  the  song  of  the  spheres 
Till  the  hum  of  its  melody  softened  your  fears, 
And  the  hot  flames  of  passion  burned  low  in  your 

breast 

As  you  lay  on  my  heart  like  a  maiden  at  rest ; 
When  fevered,  I   cooled   you  with   mist  and  with 

shower, 
And   kissed  you   with   cloudlet   and   rainbow   and 

flower 

Till  you  woke  in  the  heavens  arrayed  like  a  queen, 
In  garments  of  purple,  of  gold  and  of  green, 
From  fabrics  of  glory  my  fingers  had  spun 
For  the  mother  of  nations  and  bride  of  the  sun. 

There  was  love  in  your  face,  and  your  bosom  rose 

fair, 

And  the  scent  of  your  lilies  made  fragrant  the  air, 
And  your   blush  in  the   glance  of  your  lover  was 

rare 
As   you  waltzed   in   the   light  of  his  warm  yellow 

hair, 

Or  lay  in  the  haze  of  his  tropical  noons, 
Or  slept  'neath  the  gaze  of  the  passionless  moons, — 
And  I  stretched  out  my  arms   from  the  awful  un- 
known 

Whose  channels  are  swept  by  my  rivers  alone, 
And  held  you  secure  in  your  young  mother-days, 
And  sung  to  your  offspring  their  lullaby  lays, 


158  The  I 71  finite  Mother. 

While   races   and   nations    came   forth    from   your 

breast, 
Lived,  struggled,  and  died,  and  returned  there   to 

rest. 

All  creatures  conceived  at  the  Fountain  of  Cause 
Are  born  of  my  travail,  controlled  by  my  laws ; 
I  throb  in  their  veins  and  I  breathe  in  their  breath, 
Combine  them  for  effort,  disperse  them  in  death ; 
No  form  is  too  great  or  minute  for  my  care, 
No  place  so  remote  but  my  presence  is  there. 
I  bend  in  the  grasses  that  whisper  of  spring, 
I  lean  o'er  the  spaces  to  hear  the  stars  sing, 
I  laugh  with  the  infant,  I  roar  with  the  sea, 
I  roll  in  the  thunder,  I  hum  with  the  bee ; 
From  the  centre  of  suns  to  the  flowers  of  the  sod 
I  am  shuttle  and  loom  in  the  purpose  of  God, 
The  ladder  of  actiori  all  spirit  must  climb 
To  the  clear  heights  of  Love  from  the  lowlands  of 
Time. 

'Tis  mine  to  protect  you,  fair  bride  of  the  sun, 
Till  the  task  of   the  bride  and  the   bridegroom  is 

done; 

Till  the  roses  that  crown  you  shall  wither  away, 
And  the  bloom  on  your  beautiful  cheek  shall  decay ; 
Till  the  soft  golden  locks  of  your  lover  turn  gray 
And  palsy  shall  fall  on  the  pulses  of  Day ; 
Till  you  cease  to  give  birth  to  the  children  of  men, 
And    your    forms    are    absorbed    in    my    currents 

again,  — 


The  Infinite  Mother.  159 

But  your  sons  and  your  daughters,  unconquered  by 

strife, 

Shall  rise  on  my  pinions  and  bathe  in  my  life, 
While  the  fierce  glowing  splendors  of  suns  cease  to 

burn, 

And  bright  constellations  to  vapor  return, 
And  new  ones  that  rise  from  the  graves  of  the  old, 
Shine,  fade,  and  dissolve  like  a  tale  that  is  told. 


Classified  List.  —  History. 


CHINA.    By  ROBERT  K.  DOUGLAS,  of  the  British  Museum, 
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Classified  List.  —  History. 


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notable  books  on  English  travel  that  we  have  had  for  the  past  half- 
dozen  years.  —  Boston  Transcript. 

EVENINGS  WITH  THE  CHILDREN  :  or  Travels 
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Around  Home  ;  Over  Egypt  and  Syria;  Through 

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be  delighted  with  it,  and  so  will  the  old.  —  Nation,  N.  Y. 


Classified  List.  —  Religious. 


RIGHT  TO  THE  POINT.     Selected  from  the  writings  of 

REV.  THEODORE  L.  CUYLER,  D.  D.,  with  a  sketch  of  his  life. 

By  MARY  STORKS  HAYNES.     With  an    Introduction  by  Rev. 

Newman  Hall,  LL.  D.     i2mo,  cloth,  $1.00. 

He  speaks  in  strong,  epigrammatic  English.—  Chicago  Standard. 
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SEVEN  WORDS  FROM  THE  CROSS  (The).    By 

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Meditations  on  the  last  sayings  of  Christ. 
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STORY  OF  THE  MANUSCRIPTS.    With  fac-simile 

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It  will  be  read  with  pleasure  by  the  children  in  the  home  and 
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choice  edition  of  this  great  English  classic,  printed  on  the  finest 

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THOUGHTS  THAT  BREATHE.     From  the  writings  of 

DEAN  STANLEY.     Edited  by  E.  E.  BROWN.     Introduction  by 

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TREASURE    THOUGHTS.      From    CANON    FARRAR. 

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